


The Last Queen

by RedSkittleQueen



Series: Sealink Trilogy [3]
Category: Alien vs Predator (2004)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 43,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSkittleQueen/pseuds/RedSkittleQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Against all odds, Sealink and her Hive found a new home. When they learn of the price, she must do the unspeakable to save her people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i

 

**A.N:** I own nothing.

**A.N#2:** This is the last part of the Sealink Trilogy. **Queen's Daughter** and **King's Consort** are the other previous installments.

**A.N#3:** Re-written 5.1.12.

.

"The Last Queen"

.

PART I

.

The young woman stood on the runway of the stolen yautja ship, a vast desert plain stretched before her. It was a flat, barren expanse, its soil as pale as salt. Rounded hills and worn mesas dipped in the distance, their slopes striated with alternating bands of soot and light. A chafing breeze blew, smelling of salt and dust. The girl peered through the wavering haze and barely discerned a jagged mountain range, white crags nearly fading into the paleness of the dusty sky. It hovered before her, almost a dream, resembling a line of great, ridged lizards lying at rest. Waves of heat buffeted her bare skin as she walked down the runway. A creature as black as spilled ink padded besides her, its walk smooth and lithe. Though no eyes graced the slick exoskeleton it still gave the impression of sight as its smooth, elongated skull swept side to side. Four bristling struts adorned its shoulders, rolling with each step. Its humanesque hands crunched on the caked salt as it reached the end of the metal runway. Its ribbed, skeletal tail slithered on the ground. The young woman besides it showed neither repulsion or terror. She was Sealink, the human embodiment of the black creature besides her. It was she the late Queen Mèlintèlinas bestowed the office of matriarch, and it was she who possessed the telekinetic abilities fitting of royalty. The creature next to her was called Kaylon. He was praetorian, larger in heft and swifter in cunning than the standard drone. Without speaking they stepped off the ramp. The ground was hot on her naked soles.

Four months ago she and her small Hive of Xenomorphs abandoned their planet to escape the spread of humans. It was only now did the yautja sensors indicate a world habitable for life, though now, seeing the desert before her, did she wonder how anything could survive. Her heart hardened. After being captured both by the yautja and the humans, twice she had wiggled free. Twice she had defeated the odds and survived. _I'll survive this now,_ she thought, though knew this was an enemy older and more cunning than any single creature.

_A salt waste,_ Kaylon said, his disembodied voice as grim as the desolate expanse before them.

"There wasn't much choice," the girl said. "We were lucky for finding a world as it is. Start checking the area. I don't want any surprises."

A slow hiss bubbled betwixt the vicious mouth. The Xenomorph rolled his shoulders, sending his four erect spikes swaying. Then he padded further out, small puffs of fine alkaline dust following his feet and hands, the blazing light striking the Xenomorph into sharp contrast. Sealink watched her senior praetorian with a twinge of pain in her heart. She shook herself, focusing on the harsher facts. Any creature could see the Xenomorph's darkness for miles. Ambushes, once so common on the forested world, would no longer be useful tactics for hunting. _If there's anything to hunt,_ she thought. At least there were no humans. At least the desolateness would discourage any sort of visit from other star-travelers. _Or hunters,_ the girl thought. She shivered despite the sweltering heat. No, the yautja loved their jungle world too much. Even they wouldn't spare a glance at this waste.

The ship behind her shuddered and the ramp lowed, as if complaining under a great weight. Sealink didn't turn to observe her counterpart's entrance, but said over her shoulder, "Come and see our new home, Damon."

The Xenomorph King plodded down the runway, each step causing the metal to groan. He ducked his massive head to avoid catching his two branching horns on the overhang of the ship. His shadow dwarfed Sealink as he stood above her, the great cavern of his chest billowing and expanding as he breathed in the liquid air. A cloud of fine dust puffed upward as he took his first step on the salt, settling gray on his clawed hindfoot. The elongated skull lifted and lips peeled from silver, even teeth. Once a simple praetorian, he too accepted the late Queen Mèlintèlinas' gift of monarchy. Now he was the first, and last, of his kind. _Like myself,_ Sealink thought.

_A desert kingdom, where_ _those who find no peace withdraw to die,_ the King said. His voice as dead water, without ripple or bottom. _A daunting trek for any to find a lair._

"We'll meet this challenge as we've met all others," Sealink said. Her thoughts was a sullen snowfall. At roughly nineteen a yautja took her as his gladiatorial slave; at twenty-three she had pitted herself against an entire human settlement. Each time she had thought she would die. Each time she survived. Each hardship shaped the soft mold of her being into the hard, pitiless leader she was now. She knew her survival had cost her. Vicious killer, ruthless monarch, Sealink was no longer the inexperienced, innocent girl she once was. Now her hands were covered in the blood of yautja, Xenomorph, and human. Her mouth tasted of salt, her lungs coated in dust. Sweat dripped in her eyes, but she welcomed the sting.

Above her, Damon blew a soft gust of air, testing the thin breeze. _We will see. Where did you send Kaylon?_

"I had him scout the surrounding area. When he comes back, we should head off to those mountains; it's a guide, if anything else. We'll go until we can go no further."

_A solid plan,_ the King said, teeth bared in a lipless grin.

.s.

Sealink was glad to leave metal hull of the yautja ship. Though it carried her and her Hive of thirteen souls, Sealink couldn't shake away the memories of the powerful, hulking hunters. She had slain her captor, Dauncha, in those very halls. Ripped him apart using Damon's body. And although its scent of the yautja was long gone, she could still imagine the hot, oily musk. No, she decided. She would be glad never to see yautja construction again in her life. All she took was one dagger and collapsible spear, each she wore on a loose-swinging belt across her hips. A rough cloth she wrapped around herself and head in protection against the sun's constant blaze. From Damon's massive height she looked over her shoulder at her Hive. They counted eleven: one praetorian to protect the ten drones. But Sealink knew their number was smaller than that. Somehow, thanks her humanness, they had evolved beyond simple urges. Like herself and Damon, they were the only of their kind, able of thought and emotion. Of personality. And of faults.

She replayed Kaylon's report in her mind. _Surrounding areas clear, Queen. I saw nothing for miles._

"Anything alive?" she had asked.

_No._

That was half an hour ago. Now her subjects were lining in a rough caravan, hissing and jostling for prized positions. Kaylon patrolled the Xenomorphs, snarling several into politeness. Sealink felt the steel muscles beneath her tense.

_We should travel at a swift pace,_ the King said, opening and closing his jaws in a mockery of speech.

"Why?"

_I may be inexperienced in the ways of this waste,_ Damon said, stringing the words as if on a thick rope, _but I smell a storm on the wind._

As if in agreement with the King, the wind picked up, blowing curtains of gritty, salty dust. Sealink wrapped her makeshift hood closer around her eyes and nose. She bared her teeth at her new enemy.

"Let's get this over with," she said.

.s.

The Xenomorphs fell into single-file: Damon and Sealink leading, the drones in the middle, and the praetorian bringing up the rear. She rode on the King's shoulders, right between his impressive spikes. From her vantage point she could sometimes see the dream of white-maned mountains floating before her on the horizon's edge. Haze hung in the air. Crumbling mounds obscured her vision. And despite her height her eyes reddened and her ears filled with blown dust. Her yautja cloth became caked with sand and blown salt. Beneath her, Damon turned from ebony to gray. They traveled across the barren waste, threading their way through banded hills. The salt waste stretched on and on, its monotony numbing. The sun overhead blazed shadowless. Fine dust floated, a smoky curtain on the air. Dust filled her lungs. Everything tasted of salt. Like machines the Hive continued their steady trotting, long skulls down and mouths slightly agape, never stopping for rest, never flagging. Sealink lost track for how long they trekked. Her human body forced her to sleep and relieve herself, but her subjects never once stopped. Little sting-tailed insects crept out at night. Other animals, too, inhabited this desolate place. Diminutive lizards scampered away over the alkaline dust. Several drones abandoned the line to catch them, and brought them to Sealink. Soon a various assortment of six-eyed lizards and two-headed snakes became her nourishment. Once a drone brought back a prickly sort of plant, which, once bitten through, spurted a sweet liquid. Sealink ate them whenever she could.

Despite their steadfastness, the predicted storm caught up with them. Wind hissed at her hair, lifting stinging sand. The winds gusted and whipped, howling. She wrapped the cloth around her head and buried herself beneath Damon's overhang crest, stealing whatever meager protection she could. The storm, coming out of the west, drove them eastward. Blindly, they stumbled toward the dreaming mountains that bordered the rim of the horizon. Unable to hunt, Sealink's empty belly ached and she fantasized about the lake on her old planet, the waters cool and sweet. In suspended moments between waking and non-waking, Sealink dreamt of howling yautja and gray-eyed humans, silver needles and _scree_ ing Xenomorph. Several times she cried for her mother, though for the Xenomorph Queen before her or her human birthmother, she didn't know.

At last the storm past. The ground grew firmer, its shifting granules coarser underfoot. Once one of the younger drones dropped from the line, a leg trailing. Kaylon bullied him to his feet, nipping at the sinewy flanks. Sealink watched from a distance, feeling the oppressive burden of the stark fact: they needed to find shelter if they were to survive. Her heart hardened as she felt her own empty belly grinding for nourishment at each rolling dune. She coughed, her throat raw and lined with sand. Beneath her Damon shuddered.

_How are you faring?_

"Just find us a home," Sealink said. The waste all around her lay lifeless, motionless. The sun burned a hole in the sky. Sealink thought she could smell herself cooking. _Just a little more,_ she thought, embracing the steel core of her essence. She bared teeth, stretching bloody and swollen lips. _Just a little more._

At last night fell and Damon called for a rest. Sealink descended from the King's side as the Hive slept where they fell, as if dead. Kaylon alone maintained watch, a cadaverous dog, nightmarish face cast a light blue in the moonlight. Sealink didn't bother ordering him rest; she knew being the sole praetorian of the Hive was a heavy burden. Her heart twinged again and she rubbed her chest, thinking of Zizar, the young praetorian who saved her life from a human before succumbing to his wounds. She shook herself, ducking the sting of nostalgia and sorrow. She walked away from the Hive, seeking solitude. The coolness of the night was a welcome from the dead, dry heat. She gazed up, lost in the brightness of the canopy of stars, dimmed somewhat by the moonlight. They dazzled down at her, stretching in all directions. One of them was the yautja homeworld, hot and stinking. Another was her forested one, now the humans'. She sighed, rubbing her arms at a sudden chill. She continued on, feeling her legs carrying her up the sloping dune. She stopped at the top, panting, hands on her knees. Her vision wavered in front of her.

Then she looked up. At first she stared at the blue landscape before her without seeing. Then her heartbeat began to pound within its cage of ribs, roaring in her ears. She swallowed hard as she gazed upon the moonlight-covered Hive. It was like a massive salt hill, even from far away clearly made up of old exoskeletons of past Xenomorph. They clutched at each other in eternal embraces, their tiny mouths twisted and wide. _They must be glued together,_ she thought. Despite its blue hue Sealink knew in sunlight it would be bleached white. A blazing white bone mound. A white Xenomorph Hive. She fell to her knees.

Within moments Kaylon was by her side, his cold breath fanning her face. He froze, his lips quivering over teeth. Saliva hung from the leering maw. He looked out beyond her, towards the mound of old bones and stretched exoskeletons. His long, dark fingers dug in deep in the salt dune with gritty a crunch.

_Queen—_

"I know," Sealink said. She threw her head back and howled a Xenomorph cry, until her very bones vibrated with the screeching cacophony of the Hive. The King's bull roar bellowed across the wasteland, echoing and re-echoing. Sealink's ears began to pound but she welcomed the pain, her howls rising higher and higher until it was nothing but a wisp in the filament, filled for the first time with hope.

.s.

Dawn, falcon-gray and cool, rose to meet the buzzing Xenomorphs. Sealink stood on the crest, huddled in her yautja cloth. Despite the purple circles under her eyes she twitched and paced, feeling more alive than in months. By her side were Damon and Kaylon, their heads twisting and shifting, low hisses escaping emaciated jaws. Behind him, the Hive hissed and jostled, their tails cutting dark streaks in the gray air. Sealink could taste their excitement like a dark spice. It jittered in her fingers. Wordlessly she swung herself up on Kaylon as if on a horse, her legs astride his shoulders. The praetorian beneath her began to lope towards the desiccated mound of dead bodies. Her thighs quivered as they clung on tight as Kaylon picked up speed., the wind rushing in her ears.

The praetorian slowed as the white mountain of bones and chitin loomed towards them. Sealink craned her neck up, but the top was lost to her. She made Kaylon circle it twice. The results were conclusive: there was only one entrance, a dark, yawning slit in the white side. The praetorian stood as the girl slid off. The ground crunched and crisped under her weight, the salt blocks cracking. She rested one hand on the sinewy shoulder, her pulse loud in her ears. The gaping entrance beckoned, filled with unknown. She threw back her shoulders and bowed her head. Lowering herself to the ground, Sealink sat cross-legged on the salt. She closed her eyes, and allowed her essence slip inside's Kaylon's. She shook her elongated skull and bared her silver teeth.

_Let's do this,_ she said to Kaylon. Then she began to walk, the tight meat-glove of Kaylon's body hers to control. Leaving her human body behind, she entered the skeletal walls. She lifted her head and called in her echolocation, and saw a wondrous sight: a high-vaulted ceiling domed an enormous room, large enough for many times their number. Holes and tunnels pockmarked the vaulting walls. Sealink could hear them extend deep within and enter deep within the ground. Their depth stretched beyond her ability to see. Her black hands displaced old bones littering the floor as she walked. Cobwebs covered everything. She reared on sinewy hind legs and hissed in the still, open air. Not a tremor of clawed feet disturbed the graveyard silence, not a whisper of ribbed tails. She fell back to all-fours. _Empty,_ she thought. _Empty as a yautja's heart._ She could sense Kaylon question the validity of her statement, but she ignored it. She had what she needed.

She reopened her eyes and found herself outside, still cross-legged. She took in a deep breath, feeling trapped in a dull representation of the world compared to the fullness of Xenomorph echolocation. She clung to the memory of Kaylon's liquid strength as she rose to her sore feet, her legs wobbly. She was shaking the salt from her backside when the praetorian emerged from the darkness, as if he had been one with it.

_Either heat had scourged any trace of scents away from the vicinity, or this has been unoccupied for years,_ he said.

"Abandoned,"she said softly, as if to herself. "But why?"

The Xenomorph shifted. _Further reconnaissance will be needed._

Sealink nodded. "Of course. See to it, Kaylon." She turned around sent a telekinetic _Come, Damon!_ to the where the King and others waited on the dune crest. She watched as the gray-mottled Xenomorphs loped towards the bleached white Hive, their knife-tips glinting in the strengthening sunlight. The sky was paling in the north, first turning as pink as watered blood, then as strident as gold. Sealink had to raise a hand to cover her eyes. _I beat you,_ she thought, baring her teeth at the wasteland. _I've survived you._ She was grinning as the first drones strode up, their flexible lips wrinkling over silver canines. Sealink waited until all of them congested around her before saying,

"This is our new home. Mark it your own. If you sense anything wrong, report to me immediately. Kill anything that moves and bring its carcass to me. Is that clear?"

Without another word, the Xenomorphs slid past her and, two by two, and disappeared into the murky depths of the white Hive. Sealink let them. She could sense their satisfaction like the cool currents in a stream. A heavy weight rolled off her shoulders and she allowed herself a small sigh. She looked up at saw Damon was still with her. She nodded to him.

_Yet another obstacle we've prevailed,_ the Xenomorph King said, words rumbling deep within the cavernous chest.

"Well, we've found shelter, but that's it," Sealink said. "That's not mentioning food, or hosts."

_Planning on enlarging our Hive?_

Sealink looked out towards the rising sunrise. It blazed in the lightening sky, the disk already too bright to look at directly. "Our numbers need replenishing."

The dark form of the King shifted. The savage face descended until its cold breath brushed her cheeks. _It wasn't your fault._

"You think I don't know that?"

_You still act like it is._

Sealink barked laughter. It was an ugly sound. She found herself pacing. She stopped instantly. She was no longer in a cage, a captive of two species. _But it's still there,_ she thought to herself. _I've never left it._ She ran a hand through her hair and tore her fingers through the tangles. She winced at the sharp pain but welcomed it. Zizar received pain for saving her, and what was his reward? A deathstick wound that blew half his face off. He died in front of her, still calling out her old pet name, despite the anger he should've felt.

"It doesn't matter how I feel," she said, "the fact remains our numbers are too low to fend off an attack if we come across an enemy."

_This waste proves a daunting barrier,_ the King said, but Sealink knew it'd be only a matter of time before he confronted her again about Zizar's death and her subsequent guilt. _None will know the way._

"True," Sealink said. "As for food, there're plenty of those spiny plants, but I want Kaylon scouting first thing tomorrow morning. There has to be something more substantial to eat than serpents and bugs." She fell quiet, and listened to the sounds of her counterpart's deep breathing. "So strange to suddenly be so lucky," she said softly, as if to herself. "What are the odds we found a perfect Hive in the middle of this waste? Why would any Xenomorph leave such a beautiful Hive?"

_Perhaps the reason lies beneath. Sickness cannot be seen through pitches of sound._

Sealink shook her head. "Doesn't feel like there was a plague. When I entered the Hive there weren't any skeletons anywhere, just assorted bits and pieces of old meals. If anything, it's as if they got up and left."

.s.

The more and more Sealink learned about their new home, the more and more she was pleased with it. Within days she realized the Hive provided protection against the nipping temperatures of the twilight hours as well as shade and coolness from the blazing, wavering heat. She liked the dimness of it, though sometimes dreamed of the blue sky and warm sunshine of her forest. The drones quickly fell into stabilizing the Hive's interior, and within days Sealink found all the bones cleaned and cobwebs gone. Fresh ooze coated the walls and soon everything was glittering with wet organic slime. The girl would close her eye and envision the walls pulsing with life, as if every tunnel was a vein and she was the very heartbeat of it. The slightly bitter smell of the secretions didn't wrinkle her nose, but made her inhale more to take in the scent of their victory over all the odds. She listened to the squabbling and fights as each drone vied for the choice spots, and was content.

The dilemma of the food was solved one day as Sealink walked along the salt dunes. She was counting all of the native plants in the area when she heard the distinct _skree_ of a Xenomorph collide with furious snarling. She recognized the screams as Kaylon's and bolted into a run to discover the source. She skidded to a stop on top of a dune and saw the praetorian rearing and plunging at a wolf-thing. Sealink caught a glimpse of long fur pale as salt before Kaylon blocked her view, his long ribbed tail stabbing at the creature before him. Fine dust floated in a curtain of air as the praetorian lunged, arms outstretched, and pinned his enemy. The snarls squealed to a stop as a gout of blood splattered across the bone-dry salt. It started cooking in the sun. Sealink ran to Kaylon's side, hand on his black shoulder. The creature before her appeared like the wolves from her old homeworld, but vastly scrawnier. It was lank-limbed and large-pawed, its pelt nearly white. Its yellow eye stared at Sealink, its muzzle still curled in a death-snarl. It was the size of a small pony, but Kaylon had been bigger.

_Came out of nowhere,_ the Xenomorph had said.

Sealink looked around, but saw no avenging companions. She shuddered to think what would've happened if one caught her alone.

"Think it's poisonous to eat?" she had asked, but the Xenomorph hissed. He stepped to it and buried his head into the wolf's soft belly and ripped away the thin layer of fur. The sound of wet crunching of bones filled the air as the praetorian tore and ate everything. Soon nothing but a bloodstained pelt remained. Blood dripped from the Xenomorph's leering maw.

_It's safe,_ he had said.

Now Sealink took out hunting parties for their new prey. The strange wolf-creatures were swift and vicious, but were no match to the ferocity and ruthlessness that was the Xenomorph's birthright. They also found out the wolves hunted a six-legged creature that found its nourishment in the salt itself. Its eyes were bulging and keen; more than once it spotted the Xenomorphs and ran to safety, its stamina greater than even its hunter's. When it was caught, its flesh was tough and thick, but to Sealink there was no other goodness. Their success rate rose when Sealink devised a way of coating the salt onto the Xenomorphs' carapaces, allow them to mask their blackness. Soon she was using both sets of creatures as hosts to her implanters. They were kept in the vast underground lairs beneath the Hive as their ribs burst open. Months passed. More and more younglings were now the centre of attention, their fast-growing forms skittering about the Hive as indolent drones looked on. Sealink watched them all was satisfaction in her heart. She could now, for the first time since leaving her old homeworld, breathe free from anxiety.

.s.

Sealink sat straight up. At first she stared at nothing, her eyes adjusting to the dimness of her sleeping chambers. Then she heard it: a low hum. At first it was easy to ignore. Then it grew. The young woman waited, heart in her throat as the sound jumped to a ground-vibrating rattle, her body quivering. Then as quickly as it started, it stopped, the vibrations petering back into stillness. Sealink stared ahead, her body flushing cold. She shrugged out of the wolf pelts that made her bed and picked up the one that made her clothing, wearing it as a wrap with a thin belt to hold it in place. Her yautja spear and dagger rested in it. She ducked into the slick, membranous tunnel that fed into a larger passageway. From the coolness around her she knew it was near dawn, the waste still trapped in the grip of numbing cold. A drone, secreting a thick resin for the walls, paused to bow its long skull. Sealink passed by it and entered the main chamber.

Damon and Kaylon were already waiting for her. Two other praetorians stood in the background, both whipcord slender compared to Kaylon. She walked to her counterpart and senior praetorian.

"Thoughts on what we just heard?" she asked.

_It came from far out,_ Kaylon said, his jaws leering in the gray light. His teeth clicked. _Many lengths away._

_Could it have come from inside the planet?_ Damon asked.

_Possibly,_ Kaylon said.

"I want scouts on this," Sealink said. "Kaylon, I want you to take your swiftest praetorian with you. Damon—"

A drone leapt from a tunnel's mouth and skidded feet from the council. _Queen!_

Kaylon whirled on it, hissing displeasure. The drone flatted to the ground, showing its teeth, but refused to submit all the way. Sealink hissed Kaylon aside and glared at the drone.

"What is it that needs interrupting?" she asked.

_The senior drone requires your presence in the birthing chambers._

_Zaphara?_ thought Sealink. "Tell her it can wait—"

_It can't._

The air seemed to chill as Sealink, Damon, and Kaylon stared down at the hapless drone. Sealink took a step towards it. Its belly touched the organic floor of the Hive as it warbled.

_Please, Queen,_ it said.

Sealink grunted. "Alright. This damn well better be important. Kaylon, you have your orders." With that, she began following the drone deep into the bowels of the underHive. The air around her began cooler and older, smelling of musk and blood. Several times she had to hold onto the drone in front of her to see. At last they entered the birthing chamber. There were other drones there, Zaphara among them. It was she who pointed Sealink to a wolf trapped within the sticky resin, its head drooping as if in sleep. It was in mid-snarl, its lips etched away from teeth glinting in the low light. Its eyes were frank with death, its élan already gone. But it wasn't the dead wolf that Sealink stared at. The youngling— _praetorian,_ she thought—crouched in its own birth blood, looked at her with its eyeless head. It didn't squeak or mewl. Sealink frowned. _This is it? A defected praetorian?_ A crick of anger stirred in her belly at the distraction. She was about to stand up and snarl to be led back, when the young Xenomorph spoke.

_Did you miss me, Se?_

Sealink stood as if stricken, mouth an O, eyes wide, her muscles frozen. Then she sunk back down as if in a dream, her cheeks flush hot and cold, chills running down her spine. She recognized the voice of Zizar, the praetorian who had half his face blown off four months ago by a human deathstick. He had died; she was there. Yet here he was, whole and healthy in the youngling's body. She stared at the impossibility, her tongue thick in her mouth. With trembling hands Sealink picked up the praetorian baby as if he were a puppy, her fingers behind the tiny gray forelimbs. He weighed nothing. It was like holding a flower. Her dry eyes were steady as her heart wept.

"Zizar," she said.

.s.

Sealink stood outside, the familiar coarseness of the waste prickling the soles of her calloused feet. In the east, the sky was lightening into amethyst and pastel yellow, changing the deep indigo blue. Still-visible stars flickered, pale in the strengthening blaze of the sun. The young woman crossed the relative flatness and headed toward the crests of the nearby hills, searching for the highest vantage point. When she finally got there she crouched, the wrap of the yautja cloth shielding her face. The tips of the highest embankments were turning vibrant red as the sun climbed in the sky, highlighting the wavy, dreamlike mountains of the far-off distance. It was two days since she sent Kaylon to investigate the cause of the mysterious hum, and still there was no sign of his return. She continued to early-morning vigil, her thoughts an ouroboros twisting on itself. Damon said there was little she could do but wait. But the hum wasn't the only thing on her mind.

It was two days since the return of Zizar, and already he displayed the prowess of his past life. Though the smallest of the new batch of younglings, Sealink saw him win mock-fights against opponents twice his size. Already he was the size of a large wolf, sleek and vicious. She noticed several of the older praetorians try to mock-fight with him and receive a bleeding mouth in return. Sealink's heart ached. Those who knew him from before his death were hovering companions. Those who were born after Zizar's time watched on, curious at this strange youngling praetorian who commanded the respect of seniors. Sealink, however, couldn't bring herself to remain in his presence for more than a few minutes, and never alone. She avoided the tiny face, the crouching legs. Several times she thought she saw him searching for her, as he had done on the forested world, but Sealink was clever. She was never found. Damon never made any mention of Zizar's return, perhaps sensing his counterpart's discomfort. So she waited—for Kaylon, for herself, for Zizar—it didn't matter.

She was about to turn around and head back inside when a glint of movement caught her eye. A wolf? Sealink tightened a hand around the collapsible spear. Once she had to fight a salt wolf alone. It was like fighting a cat. She had won, but at the cost of three fierce scratches. But the movement she had saw wasn't a wolf: it was Kaylon, sprinting over the salt flat, behind him the younger praetorian. Her blood began to rush in her ears as she stood waiting, her stomach twisting. _It's going to be nothing,_ she thought, _nothing more than the planet's rumbling. Nothing more._ She lifted her head as the two Xenomorphs pulled up, their breaths pulling hard in the air.

"So? What did you find?" Sealink asked.

Kaylon shook his head in an eerily human gesture. _Yautja._

.

PART II

.

Sealink's stomach plummeted. She stared at Kaylon for a long moment.

"Yautja," she said. In her head a bell knelled. She felt faint.

_Yes. A hunting party by the looks of it, five strong._ At this he seemed to hesitate. Sealink bared her teeth.

"What is it? Speak quickly."

_Four are yautja,_ Kaylon said, _but the fifth is human._

Sealink blinked. "What? A human? But what's a human doing with them?"

_It was dressed as the yautja, and traveling in their group,_ the younger praetorian said. _Like it was one of them._

Sealink wanted to laugh and spit at the same time. The young praetorian wilted, as if expecting rebuke for speaking out of turn, but none came. Instead she turned to him and asked, "How far away are they?"

Kaylon was quiet, forcing the younger praetorian to say, _They'll reach the Hive this time next sunrise at their current speed and direction._

"So you know for sure they're headed in our direction?"

_Yes._

_There is something else we need to report,_ Kaylon said. _You're familiar with yautja weaponry, correct?_

"What's with the word-play? Tell me what you want to say," Sealink said.

Kaylon bared silver teeth, shifting. _As we were following the yautja and human, we saw a pack of salt wolves surround them, twenty strong, the largest I've seen. At first we expected a great bloodbath. The yautja did nothing to save themselves, save forming into a circle. I was sure they would be ripped apart. But then a strange machine on all of their shoulders, the human's included, whirred into life. They spat blue bursts of death, similar to the humans' deathsticks, only greater. They killed half the pack before the wolves retreated. It was a slaughter._

Sealink nodded, her thoughts like falling rocks. "Thank you both for your report. Get inside and rest, but send the King to me first."

The young woman watched as the salt-covered Xenomorphs disappeared into the slit of the white Hive. She looked at what had once been her savior. Now it stood like a betrayer, broadcasting their location to any who would look. Her eyes narrowed as a thought bubbled to the surface of her mind. _Impossible,_ she thought, but was unable to shake it away. It clung like a yellow wind, as the cadaverous visage of her counterpart appeared through the entrance, the more tightly it sunk its claws in Sealink's mind. The King was like stone as he heard her give Kaylon's report. When she finished, the great Xenomorph extended his sinuous neck high above her, out towards their approaching enemy.

"Just like old times," Sealink said with a pained grimace.

_Interesting how they've found us,_ Damon said. The eyeless skull seemed to stare at her. _But you think you know the answer._

Sealink shook her head, tried to shrug, but in the end said, "We land on a desolate world and somehow manage to find a Xenomorph Hive. Abandoned, for seemingly no reason, but in pristine condition. We settle in it. Months later a yautja hunting party show up. What if . . . what if that was the point all along? When I was still with Daun-cha,"—here she said the name in yautja,—"he would sometimes go on extended hunting parties. Maybe this world is one of those worlds."

_But aren't yautja hunters of exotic prey?_ Damon asked. _Why not hunt on a world more suitable to their needs?_

But Sealink was shaking her head. "The more challenging the hunt, the greater the 'honor' and glory. They want the harsh conditions."

_How do they know the Hive will be occupied when they re-visit their hunting grounds?_ Damon's voice was like dead water. Sealink shivered beneath it.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe they have a device that indicates when the Hive is ripe." She shuddered to think of the yautja watching, their greedy yellow eyes glinting as they surveyed her movements. She suddenly wanted to comb through the Hive top to bottom, or at least scrub herself clean. Again she yearned for the lake she left behind.

_Perhaps it doesn't matter how they've arrived,_ Damon said, _but what we're going to do._

"Kill them all," Sealink said. "We'll tell Kaylon and organize a strike force. They'll no doubt be entering the Hive, making them on our territory. We'll sort those who are able to fight and those too young. And now they hunt with some sort of projectile weapon." She stared out into space, in front of her a vast, yawning chasm. Then the steel of her being, yautja-nursed and human-honed, clenched tight.

_Have you spoken to Zizar?_

Sealink froze. "What?"

_Zizar. Have you spent time with him?_

She turned. "In about a day a group of yautja will be at our entrance. You think I have time right now to 'spend time' with him?"

Damon said nothing, as if he was made of stone.

Sealink shuddered under the silence. "I promise I will. After this yautja business gets settled. I'm not ready yet."

_Time may be short,_ Damon said. _Perhaps now your luck at survival is at its end._

.s.

The young woman stood in the middle of the mighty entranceway of the Hive, quiet. By her side crouched Damon like some sort of monstrous canine. Above and around her were every member of the Hive, resting easily in mouths of passages or clinging to the walls. The meager number had now swelled to fifty, their sleek carapaces glinting in the gray filtered light of the Hive. One of their number, a young praetorian, still small, rested in the front, nearest to Sealink. They hissed and jostled but soon fell into dead stillness as she raised a hand.

"By now, all of you know that a band of yautja and a human have heard word of our existence and are now coming to hold their hunt." Sealink didn't raise her voice, knowing of the keen hearing of the Xenomorphs. Above her, faint hissing from fifty throats could be heard. "They mean to kill us," she said, "to take our skulls as trophies! To them we are nothing but machines, bent on nothing but survival and the continuation of our kind. They do not think us as equals, but as animals." She looked around. "Let us count on that. We use their confidence against them. They expect mindless prey for harvest—let's show them something different."

Above and around, a hissing grew. Sealink raised her hand again and all fell silent.

"Despite such a low number," Sealink said, "we must be cautious. Yautja are strong and quick and clever. They train—they _live_ —for this day, this moment. We must never forget that. Ever. I do not expect us to come out unscathed," she said, "but I do expect to give them all something to remember us by."

The resounding hissing that followed was like rain crashing on lake water. It was as if fifty had transformed into a thousand. Even Damon unleashed a full-throated bellow, a cry of battle. It felt as if she had been thrown into a thundercloud of snakes. She closed her eyes, remembering the outcry during her gladiatorial days as Dauncha's fighter. She let it pour over her like poisoned honey, the ever-present coldness enveloping her heart and tightening it to a killer's point.

For the rest of the day Sealink waited, high in one of the tunnels. Despite the coolness sweat glistened on her brow as she stayed motionless, breathing quick and light. Her legs twitched and jumped, filling her with the urge to pace. She periscoped and compacted her spear until her arm was tired with the movement. She was clad in a make-shift armor, similar to when she was a gladiatorial fighter. It consisted of shed bits and pieces of Xenomorph exoskeleton over a tight breast band and leather loincloth: a breast-plate over her chest, shin and thigh guards, shoulder pads, upper and lower forearm guards, and a pleated vertical plate to cover her belly. She strip yautja cloth wound around her forehead. She closed her eyes, imagining the nightmare of when she was a captive of the yautja. _I'll never be free of you,_ she thought. She had killed her enemy with Damon's teeth, but still here she was, dressed as a mock-Xenomorph, sitting on needles, prepared to fight to the death. Perhaps her fate was infinitely tied to the honor-bound, bloodthirsty hunters. After all, they were to thank for her youth; it would seem logical they would be there at her end. Her eyes narrowed at the thought of the human with the hunting party.

_They will be expecting us to attack in waves,_ a low voice growled, as deep as thunder. Sealink didn't even move, eyes still fixed on the entranceway. Shafts of light flooded in, the only sources of light in the Hive. Everything else was veiled in dim light.

_Where are you?_ Sealink asked through her telekinesis

_I'm in one of the lower tunnels, but listen, Sealink: the yautja will come in expecting a full-blown attack. We must draw them out,_ the King rumbled.

_Draw them out? Yes, that could work. A swift drone to act as bait, to bring them in deeper . . . I like it. Separate them, make each one on their own. Take them down one by one till none are alive,_ Sealink said. _We can't make it too obvious. Tell Kaylon. He'll plan it. I trust him._

The connection ebbed, grew small, and Sealink drew back to her own gnawing thoughts. Just as she about to stand up and start pacing, five shadows marred the long beam of light streaming into the great entrance of the Hive. She froze, body tightening. She crawled closer to the entrance of the passageway, the thin curve of her back taut. The shadows lengthened, oppressing and foreboding, like faceless ghosts. Sealink tensed high overhead, tightening her grip on her spear. The shadows disappeared into the dimness of the Hive and the flesh-and-bodies replaced them. Sealink's arms erupted into gooseflesh underneath her armor.

The five spread out into a loose half-circle, the tallest of them in the forefront. A heavy musky smell hit Sealink's nose, bitter and oily. They appeared young to her as they flexed their bulging muscles, meaty fingers curling, their heads turning every way. The yautja spread out, their weapons varied amongst them. One had their wrist blades fully extended, head slowly sweeping, as if scanning. Another had its spear grasped in its hand. Even the human sported a wickedly sharp blade, its double-bladed sides honed to a razor. One of them seemed to stare her way. She ducked, and when she looked again, the gaze had moved on. Their dreadlocks gleamed like oiled snakes. Each wore a hunting mask, though it was too dim to tell the minor differences between them. On each of their shoulders rested the cannons. Sealink stared at the small form of the human. Dwarfed compared to its companions, its short stature bristled with weaponry. The organic floor of her tunnel gave a little when she shifted slightly, trying to compromise between getting a better view and keeping out of sight. Her ears strained to hear any noise, irritated that for such massive creatures they could move so silently. Even the human was as quiet as a sitting stone. _The human will be mine_ , Sealink thought as she tipped her eyes down, as motionless as the organic walls of the tunnel. She strove to control her breathing. Her eyes felt hot and hands cold. She could sense the combined excitement, fury, and apprehension from her Hive, their mingled alien emotions roiling like a powerful storm in her mind.

Two of the yautja exchanged muffled clicks. One of them pointed to the fresh secretions on the walls. The leader—or so she thought; he was the tallest—began to move deeper into the Hive, following wide tunnel of the main entrance. The high ceiling of the Hive domed above them. One by one, the human bringing the rear, they made their way deeper within. Sealink's eyes flicked. They didn't see her. She slunk down and stuck her head out a little more. Then it happened. A drone dashed in front of the tunnel, right in front of the yautja. It hardly paused as it ran into smaller tunnel. With a bellow the leader abandoned its comrades and gave chase, spear tight in its fist. The other yautja and human froze. One of the yautja held a fist in the air, then three fingers. Two other yautja and the human broke from the group and followed their comrade, their thundering steps hollow in the silence of the Hive.

Sealink scaled down the membranous, organic wall of old exoskeletons and resin. Behind her three praetorians followed suite, their talons biting deep within the walls. The single yautja whirled, rattling snarl rising from its barreled chest as Sealink and the three praetorians touched the floor of the chamber. It immediately took a spear and periscoped the lethal weapon to full length with a fancy twirling then crouched with readiness, a low clicking _kurr_ emerging from behind the mask. Dreadlocks glinted. Beaded, reptilian skin shifted as rippling muscles bulged. If it was surprised, Sealink couldn't tell. The pewter eye-pieces betrayed nothing. The praetorians each hissed, their primary maws stretched open, their smaller secondary mouths clenching and unclenching. They began to circle the lone hunter, their elaborate carapaces glinted in the dim light. Sealink circled with them, a challenging hiss spewing from her mouth, her teeth bared, her nose wrinkled in a snarl.

The hunting mask betrayed nothing as the yautja cocked its head. The hard, snaky dreadlocks whipped over its armored shoulders at it turned to look at her. With a whistling battlecry, she released the praetorians on the yautja. The praetorians leapt as one, talons drawn and silver teeth bared. With a howl of its own, the yautja struck back, its spear aimed straight for the nearest one. The Xenomorph howled, but it left Sealink the opening she needed. Screaming, Sealink buried her blade deep within the fish-netted side as it struck a praetorian along side its head. As if the spurting green blood was a signal, the three Xenomorph mass-attacked it, acting as one ferocious creature. Several drones were pouring out of various tunnels, drawn to the noise and smell of blood.

"The cannon! Get the cannon!" Sealink cried, darting back as the praetorians and drones attacked the slashing hunter. Even as she shouted her order, it whirred to life. Acidic blood spattered. One drone fell back, shrieking. Even before Sealink could register what was happening, a blue blast of light exploded from the cannon and enveloped a tearing praetorian. A squeal of agony smote the air as it was thrown back. The harsh, metallic smell of acidic blood and burning meat filled the air. Then another. And another. Two more drones were cut down before Sealink threw herself back in the mêlée, this time using the massive yautja's dreadlocks as ropes. The rough, pebbly skin burned. Its tacky, warm blood coated her hands and arms as she hauled herself up, feeling the yautja roar. The yautja whirled and stomped, twisted and torqued. More than once Sealink felt Xenomorph jaws' click against her unprotected ankles and the undersides of her calves, scoring thin burning lines of blood. Sealink snarled again. She gripped her dagger and brought it down, hard, in the yautja's cannon. It slide right through the gun.

The yautja roared behind its pewter mask. The surrounding Xenomorphs warbled their war cries as Sealink sprang away from the wounded hunter, breathing hard. Her breasts heaved rapidly. The thin, shallow rents burned like fire on the unprotected parts of her calves. But her face curved into a savage bitter-sweet grin. As if by a silent, unspoken command, the Xenomorphs sprang back, giving the Predator a wide berth. Many were scored with wounds that trickled and spurted pale, green acidic blood. Their jaws stretched, their breaths whistling between exposed ligaments. Their maws were coated with green blood which mingled with clear, thick saliva. The yautja stumbled, its harsh breath heard behind its mask. The abdomen was shredded, the slippery coils of intestine hanging down to its knees in purple ropes. Gouts of blood spurted from a multitude of slashes. It stumbled again, just falling short of the Hive wall. It struggled to climb to its feet, but was too weak. Sealink and the other Xenomorph watched it as it reached down to its leg and slid a dagger from a hidden sheathe.

A few praetorians spat hisses and moved in front of Sealink, as if to intercept any thrown blade. But no need. With a final snarl, the yautja rammed the blade deep within its own heart. It shook as if cold for a few seconds before it slumped. It was done. The hunter, unconquerable to the end, was dead.

Sealink spat on the corpse and looked around. "Everyone alright?"

_Yes. Most of the wounds are superfluous,_ hissed a young praetorian, the same one Kaylon took scouting. _Six did not make it._

Sealink nodded. "They will be honored," she said. "Heap them in a corner so we can deal with them later. First: we have yautja to kill."

The seven other Aliens clicked and hissed their approval, half their group breaking up to drag their dead Hivemates off to the sides. The other half rushed into other tunnels, heading off to find others to help. Sealink stopped the young praetorian.

"You. What're you called?"

_You've given me Onza as a name, Queen,_ the Xenomorph said.

"Good. Let's go find the other yautja." Sealink swung herself onto Onza. Crouching between the young praetorian's shoulders they flew down into tunnel. Passageways flew by as Sealink gripped the spikes with white-knuckled force. She could smell the oily musk of yautja and the hot, caustic scent of burning flesh. She spurned Onza faster, until the shrieks of wounded Xenomorphs and guttural battle roars filled the tiny confines. Runnels of sweat slid off Sealink, stinging as it touched cuts. Onza rocked launched himself forward, propelling himself with an extra thrust of momentum. With his own screamof defiance he flew at a fighting yautja. His jump was too high; recognizing this, Sealink leapt off him just as he reached the massive hunter, rolling in midair to land like a cat on her feet. The yautja hardly paid her any mind as he switched his grip on his blade, now pointing it upward. The young praetorian sailed over him, the razor end of the spear cleaving a swooping line down the length of body. The slippery screech of metal on shell filled the air. Onza spun, warbling. Sealink yowled at the sound, spurring the two other drones present. Two others stayed where they fell, their blood seeping on the floor, their flesh smoking from twin plasma blasts.

Somewhere in the background Onza slammed into the wall when the two drones and Sealink attacked. Together they struck, their claws ripping and tail slashing. Green blood flew. The yautja growled, scything the air with the blades on his wrists. Acidic blood spurted. Sealink attacked low, aiming for the tree-trunk legs. She ducked the swiping tails and back-slashing from the yautja, grunting. She hung on, feeling the hot, reptilian flesh ripple and move next to her skin. The musky stench filled her nose, and an image of Dauncha, her captor, blazed in behind her eyes. She looked up at the towering forms of the drones straining for ground with the yautja. Their tendons in their legs corded as they shoved against each other for supremacy. Screaming, Sealink sunk her spear deep within the yautja's calve muscles. A muffled roar vibrated through her as she was thrown across the room. She twisted, landing on a shoulder. She scrambled to her feet, feeling the blood hammer beneath her skin. Her breasts heaved as she panted. The two drones retreated a bit from their prey, their threatening hisses thick between their teeth.

The hunter roared a challenge, sweeping both arms wide as he kneeled, wounded leg useless. Blood spurted from the wounds seriating his body. The dreadlocks slicked over his shoulders as he turned his head from side to side. The two drones stood by, panting, their elongated skulls sweeping slowly back and forth. The yautja continued to roar, shaking his arms with his duo wrist-blades. In a blink of an eye the yautja was thrown backwards as a mighty tail hit him straight in the middle. The hunter went flying. Sealink looked in time to see Damon crashing through, unleashing a thunderous bellow. Saliva spattered. The force of Damon's tail crushed the yautja's chest and he clutched himself as if pained, but the pewter eye pieces betrayed nothing. Sealink cursed the mask. She wanted to see his fear, to see his reaction towards his certain death. The hunter craned his neck all the way back as the King pounded toward him. Teeth flashed. Dreadlocks slicked. With a growl, the yautja took out his wrist-blades with a single flick of his hand. In the other, he took out a throwing star. Damon didn't pause and continued to plow forward, swinging his massive horns back and forth. Within moments the yautja was nothing but ribbons of green meat.

Damon lifted his head, maw dripping fluorescent blood. His comb swept back as he crouched to Sealink's level. _The drones have finished off another yautja; one remains. That and the human. Kaylon is already fighting the one yautja left as we speak—what of the human?_

"I will deal with it," Sealink said. "The human's mine. Where is it?"

_Last seen in the upper tunnels,_ Damon said.

Sealink took off running, her legs pumping. She didn't stop until she reached the spot Damon spoke of. The air was warmer, lighter. The young woman padded through the twisting corridor, spear tight in her hand. She knew the tunnel was a dead end. A shadow moved farther down. Sealink took her time, placing one foot in front of the other with a cat's precision. At last she turned a corner and found the human testing the walls for a way out. Sealink spat a praetorian's hiss. The figure spun and fell into a crouch all at once, its spear fully periscoped to its full length. It held it out to its side in a stabbing stance. Sealink continued to watch the human with a jaundiced eye, not moving. A cold anger infused her. She could feel herself shaking. The human rose from its crouch, but the spear hadn't moved. It began to walk toward Sealink, the skulls on its shoulder hitting the back of its metal loincloth. The hollow sound brought shivers to Sealink's skin.

"Ooman yautja?" Sealink asked in the yautja tongue, sneering.

The yautja-human continued to walk toward her slowly, step by step, spear out in front of her.

"Me kill you. You dead," Sealink said.

The human stopped. Its pewter mask glinted dully in the light of the Hive tunnels. It was then Sealink realized the human was female, like her. She was small and compact, her legs like trunks. In the dim light, the redness of her hair stood out. It was tied up in dreadlocks, yautja-fashion. Her tanned skin shone with sweat, muscles rippling out like cords. Sealink snorted in contempt. _All dressed in yautja finery,_ she thought. She remembered how Dauncha didn't once give her yautja armor. No, she was forced to wear the chitin of her fallen foes, as if she wasn't good enough to touch it. A low growl, mechanical and metallic, brought Sealink back.

"I know you. You're Oo-kai'dhe, Dauncha's ooman kainde amedhe."

Sealink clenched her spear and mirrored the yautja-human's position. "Me kill Daun-cha."

The yautja-human stiffened. The spear lifted. "So, you were the one," she said softly, as if to herself. Her voice rose. "You're the cause of all this!"

The yautja-human gave a roar that sounded very much like a true yautja and brandished her spear at Sealink. Sealink launched herself at the other woman, a warbling screech ripping from her throat. The human smoothly turned and dropped to the floor. Overzealous in her attack, Sealink sailed over her. She twisted. She landed on all fours, a spitting hiss spewing from her mouth, her teeth bared, her nose wrinkled in a snarl. The yautja-human crouched, a clicking hiss emerging from her pewter mask. Her duo wrist blades sprang out of her leather gauntlets. Sealink eyed the razor edges. They slowly circled each other, pivoting around the empty space between them, each feinting, testing to see who would be first to attack, who to defend.

Sealink struck first. She dodged low, aiming for the right. The human shifted ever-so-slightly, then as fast as lightning struck with her blades, aiming to skewer Sealink through the shoulder. The young woman saw this and, using her momentum, rolled into her dodge. The spear came down and left a burning slice between Sealink's armor. She stumbled back, suddenly terrified of being cleaved in two. Blood welled, but it was only skin-deep. Sealink's spear scored against the yautja-human, causing her to whirl back to regroup. They circled again, each bleeding enough to stain the ground. Soon Sealink's armor became crisscrossed with white scars from the passing blades. The yautja-human was as solid as a tank, and quick. She countered Sealink's lunges and blows, parrying each feint and thrust. No matter how quickly Sealink whirled, or how fast she spun, the yautja-human was always there, weapon bristling. Sealink found herself panting. Sweat flowed. Blood covered her in a tacky slime. She stumbled back, a snarl on her face. The cold, emotionless mask showed nothing as the yautja-human advanced.

Sealink spat bloody spit her way. "Daun-cha easy to kill. Like fool!"

The yautja-woman flicked her bloodied wrist-blades at Sealink. "I'll kill you and take your skull, you _tetch-na_ whore!"

With a roar, the human launched herself at Sealink, her spear twirling. Sealink swung with all her might and brought her own weapon down with force enough to knock her assailant's aside. The blow clamored, vibrating in her hands. The yautja-human hardly paused. Before Sealink could react, the yautja-human was on top of her, striving to bury her wrist-blades deep within the soft meat of her neck. Sealink strained, arms quivering, but no matter how hard she twisted and shoved, the other woman didn't budged. _So this is it,_ Sealink thought. Then the yautja-human gave a guttural cry and lifted her blades to sever her neck.

Sealink closed her eyes, bracing herself for the hot gout of blood to spew from the her throat. A scream pierced the air, jarring Sealink to open her eyes in time to see a black shaped object barreling into the yautja-human. The blade clattered aside as the black assailant latched itself at the yautja-human's neck. The woman was knocked away from Sealink by the force of the surprise attack, a metallic cry of surprise resounding. Sealink continued to watch from her vantage point as the two combatants rolled on the ground, the chocked snarls and blood-curdling hisses. She watched with lunatic clarity, with an eye-of-the-storm calm. She watched as the she-human tried to stagger to her feet, but the jerking, dragging weight of the black monster on her throat forced her down.

It lasted just about fifteen seconds until the yautja-human reeled back, a bloody hole where her throat was. A hand flew to it. She gurgled. Sealink's eyes were glued to the yautja-human, unable to wrench them away, watching as the human swiftly surrendered to the fatality of the wound. She fell in a sitting position with her back to the wall. Blood continue to spurt in a torrent, dripping damson between her fingers. She counted to grasp at her throat, little gurgling sounds of distress coming from her. Sealink watched as young Zizar slowly turn to her, his muzzle dripping with blood. He gazed at her. He rested on his haunches, watching his Queen. The bleeding yautja-woman slumped behind him, a rattle like dry bones escaping her mouth. Sealink shivered as she thought, _That could've been me._ How would've felt, to feel her senses leaving her, feeling nothing but passing into gray?

Sealink stood up, her legs rubbery. It was finished. The yautja-human was dead, slain by the slashed throat, smote by Xenomorph fangs. The dull reddish gleams of her hair cascaded around her shoulders in the traditional dreadlock of the yautja.

_Never will another human hurt me again,_ Zizar said quietly. _Never._

A chill went up Sealink's spine as she regarded her long-ago friend. The blood that dripped from his silver teeth was as red as hers. For a moment, she wasn't a Queen but a human, looking at a Xenomorph as a deadly creature, a foreign and alien object.

"How did you know where I was?" she finally asked.

The young praetorian, now the size of a pony, didn't rise, nor went to her. _The smell of your blood._

Sealink found herself returning to a crouch. Her arms shook. "Zizar . . . I'm so, so sorry."

The praetorian lowered his smooth elongated head before getting up. Sealink remained in the crouch as he padded to her, lights glinting off the exposed ligaments in his jaws and cadaverous chest. By the time he reached her she was on the ground, nose dripping. His cold breath fanned her head, his mouth gently brushing her hair. He didn't speak.

"It's my fault you died," Sealink said when the silence stretched on too long. She stared at the ground. "Back home. Your face, the wound . . . you have to hate me. Please."

_I won't hate you._

Sealink slammed a palm on the ground and looked up. "Damn you! Can't you see what I am? What I've done? I'm a killer, I'm—"

_We're all killers._ Zizar's voice was colourless, like rain. _You, me, Damon, the yautja, the humans. You are Queen. Blood must be on your hands. The question is whether or not you can live with that._ He bowed his head. _I'm going now. I'll leave you with the human._

Sealink remained on the ground as the praetorian padded away. She slowly sat up and stared at where he disappeared around a bend. She stayed there for a long moment, counting her breaths, head feeling as empty as an ocean. After a time she slowly rose to her feet and made her way to the yautja-woman. She kneeled besides the quiet form, then reached to lift the mask free. There was a faint hissing sound as the seal broke and the tubes fell away. She took a breath, then grasped the mask and gave it a sharp tug. It fell away in her hands. For a long moment she started at the dead, vacant face. The yautja-human seemed far prettier without her mask. Beautiful, even. She had full lips and a small nose flecked with freckles. The eyes were open, dead blue, its élan gone. Sealink reached up and closed the lids. Now the woman appeared to be sleeping, and nothing more.

Sealink made her way to the main chamber of the Hive, her legs leaden. Scorch blasts and acidic holes scoured the tunnel walls. At one end were a large pile of tangled limbs, black and gleaming, acid-bitten and mangled. Hands stuck out of the mess, fingers tented like they were searching for a lifeline. They were nothing but meat now, carapace and flesh as dead as the ground beneath her feet. A drone close to her said fifteen had fallen. Sealink rubbed her mouth with the back of a hand. In another corner were the hulking bodies of the yautja, as still as the dead Xenomorph. One was mangled beyond all form. The other two looked as if their heads had been caved in. She frowned, and turned to the drone.

"There were four yautja," she said. "Why are there only three here? Where's Kaylon?"

_Slain, my Queen,_ a drone said. _N_ _ow headless. The yautja who killed him escaped._

Sealink closed her eyes. She breathed hard through the nose, then reopened them. "Very well," she said. She was speaking down a long hallway, her voice tinny in her ears. "His successor will be chosen as soon as possible. You, there. You're in charge of dissembling the corpses to be used later for the walls. You. Take as many others as you need to fix the damage to the Hive. Zaphara: take any drone or praetorian free to hunt some food for us."

Sealink watched as the Xenomorphs headed to complete their tasks. Her body stung and throbbed. Without another word she went to her sleeping chambers, where she slept where she collapsed, dreaming of rifts and chasms, the bodies of her children littered about her.

.s.

Sealink's eyelids fluttered open. She stared at the ceiling without seeing it for a long moment, her body still, the air quiet save for the slow billow of cold breath. She remained still as the King stirred all around her, lights glinting off his comb. Sealink's throat worked. She could taste the sour breath on her teeth, and when she spoke, it was with a croak.

"How long?"

_Long,_ Damon said. Sealink closed her eyes.

_Zizar told me you almost died,_ he said.

Sealink frowned and sat up. "You spoke to Zizar?"

_Came to me right after you left. Told me what he did._

Sealink's frown deepened. "Did he tell anything else?"

The Xenomorph King regarded her. _Like what?_

"Nothing."

_Did you speak to him?_ The voice was like deep water.

"We should focus on more important matters," Sealink said, standing up. Her muscles twinged as her wounds itched and stung. She rubbed the back of her neck. "Kaylon's killer is still out there. If we can catch him and—"

_And what, Sealink?_ Damon said. _To what end?_ _It can be the hardest lesson in the world, to stand back and let the inevitable play itself out._

Sealink stiffened. "What inevitable?"

The King was like stone, translucent teeth glinting like fish bones. _You yourself said this Hive was constructed as a yautja trap, or hunting ground. Even if we kill the lone yautja, it still won't change the fact more will come in time._

"A never-ending cycle of hunts," Sealink said. She slowly sank back down in the furs, face flushing hot and cold. She saw a vision of mountains of dead bodies, chitin scattered and jaws unhinged. She shuddered. "What can we do?"

_Leave this Hive,_ Damon said, _or live with its price._

Sealink spat, snarling, "Not acceptable! There's no way I'll allow that. We worked too hard to reach this world, and if I keep letting my children die, I'd go mad. I'll stop the yautja from coming here, even if I have to go to the stinking jungles myself!"

The silence rang as Sealink's shouts died into nothing. The Xenomorph King loomed over the pale form, head turned to her, and though he had no eyes Sealink could feel his gaze boring into her like ice. When Damon shifted again, she watched with tense shoulders.

_Understand what you're saying,_ the King said. _You would have to leave your Hive and travel back to the nightmare you left nearly five years ago. You would re-enter the monster's den, all for task that has a dubious outcome? Why not live with the small sacrifice of lives?_

Sealink stared at her counterpart. "I can't believe you'd sacrifice your Hive like that."

_You did, back in the human settlement._

Sealink glowered, flushing. Then she bowed her head. "Yes," she said. "I did what I thought I had to. But this I can't live with. I can't live myself as it is. Why do you think I was so afraid of Zizar?"

Damon was quiet. _Why were you?_

Sealink began to pace. "Because I thought he was an avenging spirit, sent to punish me." She stopped pacing. "I wanted him to be."

The King was quiet. So was Sealink. She stood in the dimness of her sleeping chambers, surrounded in a space of mind that had been her sanctuary. She reached out and rested a hand on the cold, slick carapace of her counterpart, feeling him breathe beneath her palm. She didn't look at him. Her head felt empty yet full, and she was reminded of a long-ago dream Damon had. She shook herself, and took her hand away from the Xenomorph King's side.

_If you do this, it'll be your most dangerous trial yet,_ Damon said. _There is a good chance you won't survive._

"I know," Sealink said. "But I can't live in the yautja's shadow. I beat them once. I can beat them again."

_Even if it means you'll spill more blood?_

Sealink's mouth tightened. "I am Queen. There must be blood on my hands."

_Can you live with it?_

Sealink said nothing.

_When do you mean to go?_

"As soon as I can."

_Will you tell the Hive?_

Sealink snorted. "By now everyone's used to me leaving for dangerous missions." She sobered. "No, not this time. I'd rather slip away for this one."

Damon shifted all around her, as if he were some monstrous beast to devour the world. He lowered his cadaverous maw to her, breath cold as a desert night, teeth glinting like translucent fish bones. The girl raised a hand to meet the dark flesh, and with a tiny palm touched the lower jaw. The fingers trailed over the familiar furrows and divots, remembering each, until the sensation of flesh on chitin was all she could feel.

.

PART III

.

Sealink stood in the shade of the Hive, a piece of dried meat in her hands. She stared out at the rolling salt dunes, the banded mesas farther back, and the wavering white line of mountains beyond them. Wrapped around her was her yautja cloth and wolf pelt. A bag of food and liquid hung from her belt, along with her dagger and collapsible spear. She looked over her shoulder at the white Hive behind her, the countless skulls and bones gleaming, locked in their eternal embrace. She knew inside the Xenomorphs were busy mending walls and repairing holes, perhaps even Damon acting as overseer. _You should be with them,_ a part of her said, yearning to be part of the collective, of the familiar. A twinge of nostalgia bit her heart. _You owe them,_ the other, larger, cooler part said. Her grip tightened on her bag's straps. _You owe them an existence without the yautja . . . or die trying._ She looked up at the light, cat-soft footfalls of a praetorian. Her mouth twitched.

"Hello, Zizar."

The Xenomorph padded over to her, his ribbed, jagged tail long behind him, the knife-tip glinting like a mirror. He hesitated before standing before her. He was about the same size of when he had died, though the shoulder struts were still slight with immaturity. Sealink stared at him, unable to help but imagine him without half a face, blood and brain matter oozing from the massive gash, smelling of acidity and infection, then watching him die in front of her, the last thing he tried saying incomplete. She remembered mourning for him. Now here he stood, whole and clean and undying. All of a sudden she was stricken with a deep, wistful longing.

_You're going to track down the yautja who killed Kaylon,_ Zizar said.

Sealink nodded. "Yes."

_You're going alone._

Sealink shook her head. "No, Zizar, I'm not. I was waiting for you."

Some of the colour reentered the praetorian's voice as he shifted, head swaying. _You were?_

"I was. You and I are going on adventure. It's going to be long, bloody, and dangerous. We might not survive. No, there's a very good chance we're not going to walk away from this." She lowered her head. "You were right, Zizar. I am Queen. Blood is on my hands. I have to learn to deal with my past, or not live at all. I want you with me because there's a reason you came back." She hesitated. "Even if that reason is still a mystery to me."

Zizar's flexible lips lifted, fell. The head bowed. _I will do it._

"Want a moment to say goodbye?"

Zizar moved closer until he was alongside her. _Everyone I need is right here. Let's go._

Sealink nodded, shoving away the feather-touch of unease. She rocked herself up and sat between Zizar's shoulder spikes. The cool, chitinous flesh was smooth as she easily slid into a better position. She looked over her shoulder at the salt dunes, mesas, and wavering dream-mountains. Somewhere out there lurked the yautja and Kaylon's skull. An urge made her look over her shoulder. Damon was in the great entranceway, her earliest companion, her counterpart. Sealink's heart tightened as she remembered, after the yautja capture five years ago, Damon helping out of the cold and vicious shell she had become. She half-raised her arm and waved it in a human gesture she had seen among the humans on the forested world. Then she spurred Zizar forward, heading to the west towards her enemy, turning only for the briefest moments to look behind her and the life she had before disappearing over a dune.

How long or how fast Sealink flew over the Salt Waste, she didn't know. All that she was aware of was the shifting black muscles moving in a tireless motion beneath her, the hot, salty smell of the wind and the very sound of it roaring in her ears. She crouched on Zizar like riding a horse, eyes slitted against any sand particles, mouth braced in a thin line from tension, knuckles white under the pressure of her grip. Zizar never once faltered nor stumbled. His energy was endless, the sound of his hard, cold hands and feet pounding the ground beat in her ears. He was organic steel, powerful and eternal. Sealink relished in his speed, his tirelessness, and the wind in her face. The hard, glaring blue of the sky and the waterless landscape whizzed past. And it was with that he bore himself and his Queen to greater and greater speeds, faster and faster, harder and harder, till it was only a pure miracle that his heart did not explode under the pressure.

It was only when the dark silhouette of the yautja appeared did Zizar slow, pounding footfalls becoming softer and softer. Sealink shifted between the shoulder spikes. Fear, once feather-light but growing heavier, laced her veins. The sweat trickling in her eyes didn't all come from the heat of the sun.

"How far?" Sealink asked.

_Close. Maybe a mile._

"Flank it. I want to be within talking distance."

Zizar swayed his weight on his feet before shooting forward like a monstrous black spring, bending his run so it looked like he was running in a huge circle. Sealink bent over him, keeping her eyes slit from any kicked salt particles. From time to time she raised her head to see if she could see the foreboding yautja ship. She didn't have a Xenomorph's echolocation. She only had eyes, and they the heat waves rising above the ground tricked them, masking any long-sightings. Zizar began curving his run sharper as the dark shape came into view, the first details coming into focus. Sealink pushed herself up, now riding Zizar by her knees. She looked out, eyes narrowed, shoulders back, hands gripping the shoulder spikes with white-knuckling force.

"There! Cut him off, Zizar!" Sealink cried, spurring the praetorian. She sunk down in her seat. "Just cut the bastard off," she repeated to herself under her breath, both apprehension and anger roiling within her breast. Her heart bucked and churned at the sight of her age-old enemy. By now the yautja had seen Zizar and Sealink and was slowing down. She watched him place the slightly-crested skull of Kaylon on the ground with great reverence before resuming a combat position, loose and confident. _Too confident_ , Sealink thought, and had Zizar slow down his run to a dog-trot. She squinted at the yautja standing not sixty meters away, controlling her breathing. She couldn't see a cannon on his shoulders. _Kaylon must've torn it apart before he died,_ she thought.

"Careful," Sealink said, but to herself or to Zizar, she couldn't tell. "There may be a throwing weapons. Watch yourself."

Zizar didn't reply, but began to mince his steps, running at a sideways angle like. Sixty meters became fifty, then forty. At thirty meters Zizar planted his feet and braced himself, stopping. Though Sealink couldn't see the praetorian's visage, she was knew he had his fangs bared, dripping and silver, lips writhing in a threatening snarl. Behind him his ribbed, jagged tail whipped and furled, its deadly knife-tip shining dully in the stark sunlight. The yautja didn't emerge from his relaxed, casual calm. She could see now twin wrist blades adorned his forearms, and she wasn't surprised if a collapsible spear was hidden. It was then she noticed his height. _He's small,_ she thought. The yautja was maybe six feet. No, more that she thought about it, this yautja looked young _._ The general form lacked the bulging muscle present in all other adult hunters, as if his muscles were underdeveloped. Even his dreadlocks were small in both length and width, barely going past his neck. If Sealink didn't know any better, she would say this yautja was quite a young adolescent. The sweating skin, pebbly and reptilian, was splattered with marble black. They formed irregular strips across the lean arms and muscled legs. Intermitted specks of burnt orange added to the base colour of a lighter, cream-umber. _Where've I seen these colours before?_ Sealink thought before pushing it away.

She slid off Zizar with a silent grunt.

The praetorian shifted. _Sealink?_

"I know what I'm doing," she said, never taking her eyes off the yautja.

"Yautja!" Sealink called to her enemy in his tongue, the heat of the beating sun and scent of salt and forgotten. She saw only the yautja, the destroyer of her youth, her innocence. She stood not twenty meters from him, her heart a bird in her throat, pulsing. The yautja held his ground with easy readiness, Kaylon's ghastly grin stretched over his features as he sat in the sand, mouth held in a diseased gape. The yautja mask's eyepieces glared coldly at her, revealing nothing. The pewter of the mask gleamed and glinted dully, showing off two small, curving marks burned into the forehead. Kaylon's blood, Sealink realized. She was looking at the victory markings won with Kaylon's blood. She felt sick. The yautja tilted its head ever-so-slowly, a high growl escaping it. Somewhere in the unimportant background, Zizar hissed. Sealink pointed at Kaylon's skull. "Me want."

The yautja cocked his head as a strange tension enveloped his form. His forearms corded. The legs bent into a crouch. The clawed hands curled into fists. The small yautja snorted behind his pewter mask, his small dreadlocks making slithering noises as he shook his head slowly side-to-side, eyepieces glaring. She could almost sense the lipless grin, the clicking of the mandibles rubbing together. The image sent shivers down her arms and she bared her teeth. "Give me head, or die," she repeated, preparing the send Zizar at him.

"Hello, Oo-kai'dhe."

For a long moment Sealink blinked. She frowned and peered closer. It was then did the colours, so familiar, come clear. The shape of the enemy morphed into the figure of the yautja pup from all those years ago, the same young yautja who resembled Dauncha's hue of burnt orange. Memories rose unbidden in her mind, forcing her to remember her capture and containment on the yautja vessel. The cage. The glass wall and the conversations engaged across it between a terrified girl and a yautja pup. Sealink took a half-step forward, shock waning as it lost its paralyzing grip on her. She frowned in concentration, as if unwilling to accept Kaylon's killer could truly be the little pup she had seen as a light in the darkness. Without him, she was sure she would've gone mad, or allowed her bitter hatred towards Dauncha consume her. When the black-and-orange Predator didn't attack, she took another step forward, emboldened. She squinted at him.

"You," she said, stumbling on the yautja word for familiarity.

The word hung in the air, suspended by the fragile, hushed strings of Sealink's voice. In the sweltering midday heat of the salt dunes, no wind nor hazy cloud of sand could disperse the statement. She managed another step before she heard the yautja's fist tightening, the sound of rasping pebbly skin loud as a Xenomorph's roar in her ears. The young hunter shifted his weight on a ball of one sole, his shoulders hunching. His pewter eyes seemed to glare at her as a thin, reedy metallic whine began to fill the air.

"Not another step,"the yautja said. Zizar began to shift and hiss, saliva dripped from his bristling mouth. He gouged the sand, tail lashing. To his credit, the diminutive yautja did not show the slightest sign of fear. His muscles tensed, his crouch intensified. A high growl built within his throat, accumulating a savage hum.

"Zizar, back off," Sealink said before looking back at the yautja. "You, Daun-cha's—"

"Do not speak my sire's name!"

Sealink jerked back as if stung. The praetorian spat behind her, threats oozing between his jaws. He began to pace behind her, long dark fingers crunching in the sand. The yautja breathed hard behind his mask, the once-empty fist now clenching a knife. She eyed it coolly.

"If you ever speak my sire's name with such familiarity again," the yautja said, "it will be your death."

Her mouth turned downward. Whatever good-will feeling she had was bleeding away, twisting into a strange ache deep in her chest. The pup she once knew was gone; in his place was an angry son, hard and angry and miles away from the chubby youth she remembered. Her mouth thinned. She should've known this would happen. She had killed Dauncha in an act that stripped away his honor, all of his pride, and cripple all those associated with him. She remembered her escape from the yautja homeworld, stealing Dauncha's ship and huddling between Damon's forearms the long voyage home. Her late Queen, Queen Mèlintèlinas, had died on that planet, trundled like some grotesque insect left in a room to rot. She noticed the young hunter regaining self-control, his anger simmering into the loose-formed hunting hunch. Behind her, her companion kneaded the ground with his long, cold black fingers.

"I've searched for you," Dauncha's son said. "Now I know you are nothing but a dishonorable coward, a slinking pife-na. My clan became a laughing stock! All because you left in such a manner fit for a lou-dte kalei." The young yautja's voice shook with bitterness. He lowered his head in a position befitting of a charging bull, not one of sadness. "They said he couldn't even control his own slaves." The twin blades shot out of his wrist gauntlet. Zizar clacked his jaws and leaned forward, eager.

Sealink lowered her head. "Me suffered my part, yau-tja," she said. "As you suffered yours. Me no wanted be slave, yet me Daun-cha's slave."

"Pick up your weapon."

Sealink tensed. "What?"

"I said pick up your weapon."

"No."

The yautja took a threatening step forward, head lowered and cold pewter eyes belligerent.

"Pick up your weapon so I can claim your skull. Only then will my clan's name be restored."

The hot sun glinted off the landscape in a scorching, bleach-white haze. This was a dry heat, a sauna's furnace. Sealink resisted the urge to wipe the sweat dripping off her brow and down the length of her face. It was midday, the worse time of day to be out in the sun. Already she was beginning to feel the affects of being out in the heat for too long. _I need to end this quickly_ , she thought.

"Me no fight," she said.

"You will."

Sealink spread her arms wide. "Oo-kai'dhe want peace."

The yautja laughed, a ripping _kurr_ 'ing sound. Sealink shuddered under it. "After what you've done to my clan's name, to my sire, to me, you want peace?"

The yautja's bellow echoed throughout the salt waste. Sealink was knocked to the ground as Zizar shouldered her out of the twin blades' arching path. She hit the ground with shoulder-numbing force, crushing the wind from her lungs. The wounds from the earlier battle blared in shooting aches through her body. She clenched her teeth, using her momentum to roll away from the clashing bodies. She looked up to see the behemoths clash in the age-old dance of death. Before Zizar could touch the yautja the blades slashed in an arch. The slippery screech of chitin on metal scarred the air like a sheet of lightning. Launching himself hard to the right, Zizar ignored the dripping wound and aimed straight for the yautja's legs. With an almost careless grace, the orange yautja replied with a sweeping arch of his wrist blades that forced Zizar to abandon the legs and leap up to the unprotected face. The yautja dipped and spun as if born to it. Leaping to her feet, Sealink rushed to where her weapons fell. Wrenching it out of the gritty, sandy ground, she sprinted to where Zizar was circling the yautja, his tendons straining out of his legs as he jerked his body back and forth to confuse his opponent.

"Zizar, no!"

The praetorian _skree_ 'd, battle cry wailing over the simmering landscape. Sealink slung an arm over the hot dome of his head and held on tight, forcing his head low. One hard look at Zizar and he covered his lips, a low hiss sliding from his throat. Then she stared at Dauncha's son in front of her. He was so close she smelled the oily sweat gleaming over his body. She could see scars decorate his skin, more numerous to count. Florescent blood dripped and ran over his body. Sealink observed his wounds with a cold eye. The two continued to stare at each other, human and yautja, each sharing a bloodstained past and uncertain future. Sealink refused to look away. The idea that had been crawling in her mind knocked on her lips. Her chest tightened. _This is it,_ she thought, with no small amount of bitterness. _Damon, forgive me._ She took a deep breath.

"You want revenge? You and me make deal."

The yautja snorted. It was an ugly sound. Sealink tried to ignore the odd ache between her ribs. "Why should I make a deal with you when I can just claim your skull?"

Sealink didn't twitch. "Oo-kai'dhe want no more kainde amedhe hunts here. No more. In return, me let you take Oo-kai'dhe's skull."

Dauncha's son froze. Zizar's low hissing stopped. Sealink continued to stare ahead, eyeing the cold pewter eyepieces. The yautja cocked his head, a low clicking emerging from deep within his speckled umber throat. He took a step forward. She didn't move. Zizar shifted behind her, ribbed side pressing against her spine. He was hot on her back.

"What's stopping me from taking your skull now? You don't deserve an agreement," the yautja said.

"You die out here," Sealink said coldly. "Me kainde amedhe kill you. You no vengeance. You no Oo-kai'dhe skull. You die with others."

The yautja began to growl. "I'll win."

Sealink eyed his bleeding wounds and let her answer remain in her silence. The yautja spat and corded his arms. "I don't need anything handed to me!"

"We fight when me done convincing other yau-tja no hunt me kainde amedhe," she said. "Oo-kai'dhe fierce. May win. Yau-jta fierce. May win. Oo-kai'dhe no hand you skull."

The yautja leaned back and regarded her. Sealink wondered what he looked like under the pewter hunting mask. Her memory of him was hazy. In her mind he had baby fat still, but moved with the makings of a killer. Her mouth thinned. She remembered she had wondered, long ago, whether or not he would turn out like Dauncha. _I hope not,_ she thought, _or everything I'm doing is for nothing._ She knew her own life was forfeit; as Queen, her only concern was the safety and continuation of her Hive. She took a step forward and the yautja tightened, a low _crrr_ rumbling in his chest. The darkness of the eyepieces watched her as she drew her dagger from her belt and, with slow movements, slit the palm of her hand. Run liquid welled up and spilled onto the salt below. She held it up to show him.

"Oo-kai'dhe swear as kainde amedhe queen," she said, "Oo-kai'dhe give you fight for skull. But first, take Oo-kai'dhe to homeworld to speak to elders. Kainde amedhe comes with."

For a long moment her words hung in the air. Zizar was a black stone for all he moved, his wet breath slow between his sinewy jaws. Sweat rolled down her face as the yautja's chiseled hunting mask stared at her. Heat waves buffeted the three as the winds across the salt waste picked up. Somewhere, a haunt howled its hunger.

At long last, Dauncha's son grunted. He backed away. "As long as you die and you understand you will lose everything you care for, I don't care how it's done. You may ride with me on my ship, but your mission is folly. The elders will never grant your request. You're going to die far from your home and I'll be there to witness it. I don't even care if your pet kainde amedhe comes along. You'll learn you should've given up a long time ago."

Sealink watched as the yautja bent down to pick up Kaylon's head with more grace than she could ever muster and without a second look began walking towards the cloaked yautja ship, his short dreadlocks _slank_ 'ing and _slish_ 'ing against the metal shoulder pads. Sunlight glinted. Kaylon's head rode on the back of his shoulder like some kind of demonic parrot. It grinned at her, as if mocking her with its silence.

.


	2. ii

**A.N:** And lo, the chapter which took seven years to write.

 

“He knelt by the bed and bent over her, draining their last moment to its lees; and in the silence there passed between them the word which made all clear.” 

—Edith Wharton, _The House of Mirth_

 

.

 

PART III

 

.

 

The inside of the ship was murky, the dull red lights gleaming in the oily consistence of the air. Sealink shuddered despite herself, skin crawling as memories pressed all around her like liquid steam, making it difficult to breathe. It smelled of bitter musk and stale air. Only the slick chitin of Zizar’s shoulder blade kept her from abandoning the ship and the plan to plead for her children's lives. She kept close to the praetorian, forcing herself to breathe in even breaths. If the yautja in front of them sensed her discomfort, he made no motion of it; as soon as he entered and closed the ramp he disappeared in the murk, leaving Sealink and Zizar to themselves. Only his fading footsteps on the metal grating announced there was another living creature on the ship. _This is it,_ she thought. She took a step forward. _No turning back._ She made her way deeper within the bowls of the ship, feeling the walls compress all around her. Zizar’s nails clicked against the metal grating of the ship, echoing in her ears. 

After some time of wandering, Zizar stopped in front of a doorway. The hatch was closed, but the Xenomorph inclined his head. _It’s empty inside, and large,_ he said. _A suitable chamber?_

“Let’s see it,” Sealink said. 

The door opened with a rough push and the young woman looked in. Zizar had spoken the truth: the interior was at least six praetorians wide and four long. Random crates and nets broke the ringing emptiness. The air felt different, staler, as if no one had breathed in there for a long time. She shuddered with the memory of the prison cell with its glass wall and hopeless stench and turned to Zizar. 

“It’s better than last time,” she said with a smile, but the humor fell short, and the grin quickly left her lips. She could feel the praetorian regarding her, his gaze steady and blank like the worn-away expression of a river stone. Sealink ducked under its weight and moved towards the door. Suddenly the room felt too small. 

“I’m going exploring,” she said. “I’ll be back in awhile.” She stepped in the silent corridor and left the door ajar lest Zizar wanted to join her, but he never emerged. Sealink tried to ignore her relief and picked a direction to walk, her steps aimless and wary. Yautja runes followed her as she made her way through the ship, harsh and serrated. _The sooner I get this mission done, the better,_ she thought. Her heart hardened as she thought of Damon’s last words to her. She knew this journey could very well be her last. What was she thinking, thinking she could change anything for the better? 

Her steps took her deeper in the ship than she had ever experienced. Each way looked the same and soon she began wishing Zizar was by her side. But she pressed onward, until she came across a metal door. She didn’t know why she wanted to open it, but she did, throwing her hip to push it loose. It came free with a metallic squeal and Sealink found herself staring at someone’s living quarters. Her first instinct was to close the door before the inhabitant returned, but then she realized all but one were dead. The chances of this being Dauncha’s son’s quarters were tiny. She peered inside. The room was spartan, filled with nothing but a small berth and weapon’s rack. The berth looked like someone slept in it recently, the furs disturbed. Sealink stepped closer to the weapon’s rack. Numerous killing devices gleamed in the murky red gloom, their edges razor-sharp and oiled. Ornate symbols and rune-like words were carved in the hilts and steels of several of the weapons. There were spears and blades and knives and throwing stars and things Sealink couldn’t comprehend. One thing she noticed was all of them were relatively small in length, small enough for her wield. Her hand stretched out to one blade, her breath light. 

“Don’t.”

Sealink whirled around. Dauncha’s son stood in the doorway, dyed red from the ship’s lights. His mask was off, and so was most of his armor, but with the lighting it was difficult to discern his expression. He was slight, almost whiplike without the extraneous metal and skulls, yet he seemed to fill the entire doorway. His oily musk mixed in the air in a heady, bitter solution. Sealink tensed, recognizing her spatial disadvantage. She considered calling for Zizar, but didn’t. She waited, locking gazes on where she thought his eyes were. 

“Why no?” she asked. 

In the dimness the mandibles flared, and a low growl rumbled in the air. “You don’t have the honor to touch a dead warrior’s weapon.” 

Then he was gone, sandled feet thudding down the hallway. Sealink remained frozen for a heartbeat more before taking off after him. It didn’t take long to catch up to him. She matched him step for step, trailing slightly. Though he didn’t turn to regard her she knew he was aware of her. Her heart gave a little clench. _We’ve come a long way, haven’t we,_ she thought. Though she didn’t like to dwell on the nightmarish months as Dauncha’s gladiator, she remembered cherishing the son’s presence. He had been but a pup, growing quickly into the honed killer he would one day become. And she knew he would—he was yautja: he was supposed to be a hunter. _Now our paths meet again,_ she thought as she followed him. They didn’t speak the entire time it took to arrive at the command bridge. At first she tried memorizing the way, but at last she gave up for the sheer monotony of the hallways. The moment the door opened with a pneumonic hiss he went straight for what looked like an important control panel and began clicking and fiddling with it. Sealink lingered near the entrance. The area was spacious, large enough to hold at least a six yautja. White light filtered through the vast windows. Outside was her world, seen behind a wall of glass. Sealink took a step forward, suddenly homesick. _You may never see it again,_ she thought bitterly. 

Sealink stayed out of the way as Dauncha’s son went through the motions of setting the ship alight. Despite his youth it was obvious from the ease which he awoke the controls he was skilled. The panels flooded with green and red lights as systems hummed to life. Sealink clung to the wall as the ship shuddered like a horse casting off flies. Its great engine _churr_ ’d to life and Sealink saw the land shift outside the windows as the ship lifted. The _churr_ grew into a stuttering rumble as the engines kicked into a higher power and suddenly the ship was ascending, leaving the world she had fallen in love with behind. Searing blue filled the windows, and as the yautja maneuvered the ship beyond the atmosphere, the blue deepened until it was the colour of a Xenomorph’s carapace. The familiar colour soothed her terror of the empty vastness. Washes of cold stars speckled the black monotony. The noise of the engines eased into a low, vibrating hum, permeating the air until it was the only sound besides the clicking of the yautja’s claws on buttons. She cleared her throat.

“The room,” she said. “It yau-tja ooman’s, no?”

The yautja’s hands stilled on the panels. His back tensed. His head turned profile to her. 

“What do you think you’re trying to accomplish in engaging me in conversation?” he asked, and the amount of black hatred in his voice struck Sealink as if a physical blow. He turned fully, yellow eyes gleaming from the sunken sockets like coals. “You may want peace,” he said, taking a step forward, “but you won’t get it from me. I’ll have your skull one way or another, or I’ll watch as the others tear you limb from limb like the cur you are. Don’t speak to me like you know me. Don’t even look like you know me. Now get off my bridge before I decide fuck the arrangement and kill you now.”

Sealink fumbled for the door. It hissed open and she fell through, and as the slid shut in her face, she stood panting, as if she had sprinted through the Hive. She put a hand to her chest and grimaced. She turned and almost jumped. 

“Zizar!” she said. “I didn’t—what are you doing here?”

The praetorian’s nightmarish visage emerged from the gloom as if it were a part of it. She could hear his quiet breathing from between the savage jaws and the click of his claws as he drew near. She lifted her hand without thinking and he nudged the smooth curve of his skull in the cup of her palm. The movement and position was an old one, and Sealink blinked at the bittersweet nostalgia. She began to rub her hand up and down, just as she had done years ago when Zizar had been nothing but a gangly praetorian. _But he isn’t anymore,_ she thought. Spirit resurrect, avenging demon, benevolent essence, she didn’t know what he was. But the motions were familiar, and Sealink didn’t want to deny the small comfort. Zizar lowered his head, hissing with each indrawn breath. 

_You’ll gain nothing in attempting amends,_ he said, words quiet and low. _You must earn it. That is the yautja way._

“And how would you know so much about yautja?” Sealink asked. 

_I’m right, aren’t I?_

Sealink stopped caressing the sleek carapace and let the hand fall to her side. “Yes, you’re right. I don’t know why I . . . I don’t know. I thought—” She shook her head. “Let’s go back to our room. We have no place here.”

.

 

.s.

 

.

 

Sealink lost track of the passage of time. With nothing to do but sleep and brood and pace, she fell into a bored, tense state. She yearned for the salt wastes, the desolate stretches of nothing. Her life had been so filled with hardships and trials, how poetic was it to fall in love with a barren world? Now with her friendly advances towards Dauncha’s son rebuffed, Zizar was all she had. If Zizar felt the effects of dullness, he made no comment of it. He seemed to be perpetually at rest, never moving from his corner, his head quiescent between his quiet hands. Sealink almost wished he would be as restless as she. Before his death he was never still; now it was she who couldn’t help moving, her legs carrying her in circles. Was it some lingering effect of experiencing the after life? Sealink couldn’t bring herself to broach the topic. Sometimes he reminded her of the friend she had lost, other times, a cold stranger. She could almost hear Damon in her head encouraging her to talk to him, but words were clumsy on her tongue. And with the praetorian making little attempt at conversation, silence filled their days. 

Whether it was on his part or some other influence, Sealink didn’t see Dauncha’s son again during the voyage. Sometimes she thought she heard a breath or a click of claw on metal, but after exploration, she always found herself alone. The loneliness bore down on the young woman. After their last encounter, she had no urge to repeat a confrontation, but neither did she want to give up on the yautja. Some part of her yearned for the connection they once had—she, a terrified girl, he, a naïve pup. She was convinced he had been the reason she had kept her sanity. Was it foolishness on her part, an idealistic dream? She didn’t delude herself: he’d kill her when he’d have the chance. But what if he also thought about the days before all this? _Bah._ The emotions confused her. Despite the odd urges, she never actively sought him out. She never revisited the room that belonged to the human yautja. She tried not to visit behind many closed doors, but after days _weeks?_ of being coped in the metal bowels of a dark ship, there was little else to do. To her it was a form of pacing, of exerting energy but going nowhere. 

One such wandering brought her in front of a door. She didn’t know why she stopped in front of it, or why she was suddenly struck with the urge to go through. After, when it was all over and she was back with Zizar, she knew something _had_ pushedher. As always, it was quiet save for a low humming of machinery. The hallways stretched in either direction and were lost to the murk. Wherever the yautja was, it wasn’t near her. She mustered her courage and gave the door a pushed. It squealed open and Sealink threaded herself inside. 

A nauseating odor slapped her. Her stomach flip-flopped on itself and she brought a hand over her nose.

“Ugh _._ ”

It was as if something rotting was cooking. The foul smell came from a huge vat in the middle of the room. Steam rose from the boiling liquid within the container, an eerie, pulsating yellow light emitting from it. Morbid curiosity and a terrible sense of _don’t look, don’t look_ warred within her. She felt as though she’d been there before, in front of the same sordid-smelling vat. The sense of déjà vu, the _I know what this is_ was unsettling, and more than anything she wanted to leave. But the urge to know was too much. As if drawn by an invisible thread, she worked her way over, as cautious as a skittish deer, her feet soundless on the metal floor. When she reached the vat she lifted herself up on her toes and peered into the yellow depths. There was a split moment in time where she couldn’t see beyond the bubbling surface, hovering tremulously between the sheer second of unknowing and knowing. Then the shock cascaded. Kaylon’s skull grinned up at her, bone-white. Sealink fell back as if burned. She managed to stumble a few steps before emptying the contents of her stomach noisily on the floor. The nauseating odor of flesh boiling pressed down on her like an iron weight. She couldn’t escape fast enough and slammed the door behind her. The oily, musky air of the corridor was no better, and as she sunk to the floor, wheezing, the last barrier broke. For the first time since learning of his death, she cried for the loss of Kaylon. 

 

.

 

.s.

 

.

 

Sealink felt more than heard the ship dropping out of hyperdrive and entering orbital descent. The walls began rattling as the thrusters took over, the once-low hum of the engines jarring into a whirring rumble. Sealink waited it out, grimacing at her speeding heartbeat. This was it. She looked over to where Zizar lay. His claws bit deep into the metal grating, his lips quivering over glistening teeth. When the worse of the shudders died down, Sealink made her way to the door, shoved it open, and stood in the corridor. Zizar slipped out behind her. He nudged her shoulder with a feather-light touch. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t have to. 

The corridors seemed endless, as if they didn’t want to relinquish their hold on their captives. Sealink wanted to sprint, to run, but she forced herself to walk until she found the whipcord shape of Dauncha’s son. She instantly tensed. He was decked in his full armor, his cannon perched on his shoulder like a macabre mechanical parrot. He was maskless, his young face hard and angular. His eyes gleamed from within the sunken sockets. His mandibles twitched and jittered but slowed when he perceived her. Her heart gave an involuntary clench at Kaylon’s skull strapped to his back, dead and gleaming white. She swallowed hard against the bitter knot in her throat. Since the full realization of Kaylon’s death and her mourning, she felt as though a fog had been burned away. Her clarity focused to a chilled point. _What happened to Kaylon is what’s going to happen to all my children,_ she thought with cold certainty. Whatever misguided hope of friendship, of a renewal of their bond, withered within her. They had both changed beyond the scope of their initial meeting. She was no longer the helpless girl, and he, no longer the curious pup. He wasn’t her ally, and she was glad she was finally clear-sighted enough to see it. She embraced the hot kernel of hatred, welcoming its simplicity over the complicated ache of the past emotions. Hate was simple. Hate was good. It would tide her through what was to come, be they her last. _It’s always been that way, hasn’t it,_ she thought. _Hatred. Violence. Killing._ _No matter where I go, no matter what I do, somehow it always finds me._

Like father, like son. If he planned to kill her family, she’d send him the same way as his father. Her palm throbbed with the promise she made. Fight to the death, she had said. She never defeated a yautja before. Only with Damon’s body did she slay Dauncha. Her hand tightened to a fist. Who said she would keep her promise, anyway? She didn’t owe this yautja anything—if anything, he owed her. She lifted her head and pretended not to notice him. If the son noticed a change in behavior, he made no sign of it. As if by unspoken signal, the metal hatchway released and made its whining descent. Light replaced the murk inch by inch until the ramp was completely open. 

The waft of hot, humid jungle air was almost more than Sealink could bare. In an instant she was back in the gladiatorial pits, numb in the face of hundreds of yautja yowling for her death. She could smell the thunderous odor from the jungles, the foul breath from the yautja mouths, the sweat already pouring down her body. Her throat felt as though Dauncha’s phantom hands were wrapped around it, squeezing, unrelenting, as if after all these years finally finding vengeance from the grave. She didn’t realize she was backing up until she collided against Zizar’s chitin. The surprise woke her. The Xenomorph nudged her, once, softly, and Sealink remembered herself. She turned her head and found Dauncha’s son regarding her. The eyes pinned her with their flat gaze, and she could feel the contempt, the loathing, as if it were a physical thing. Without a word the yautja heaved Kaylon’s skull over his shoulder and began to make his way down the ship’s grated ramp. Coldness settled over her like a shroud as she began to descend the ramp after him. The light hit her like a blow, narrowing her eyes to squints. Then the heat met her. Unlike the dry heat on the salt wastes, this one was steamy, sweltering, and within moments sweat was pouring down her hairline and collecting on her upper lip. 

There were sixteen yautja present, filed in two rows of eight. All were dressed in ceremonial armor and maskless, but Sealink didn’t need to see their faces to know they were astonished to see her and the docile Xenomorph trailing behind her. After a few seconds of shocked silence, a scar-marked, gristly veteran barked a command and within moments bristling spears surrounded her and Zizar. Those nearest to the Xenomorph left him a wide berth. Sealink tensed, but the old Sealink, the cold one, remained outwardly calm. She didn’t react when a spear broke ranks and prodded the flesh under her chin. Thunderous silence rang throughout the assembly. Zizar hissed once, then fell quiet. She lifted her chin, as if daring the yautja to sink the spear deeper. When nothing happened, Sealink pushed it away and said in her most peremptory voice, 

“Me Oo-kai’dha, slayer of Daun-cha. Take me to council. Me have words to speak to old yau-tja.”

If the silence was quiet before, it became smothering now. None of the hunters moved. Then the yautja, the same scarred one who shouted the initial order, stepped forward. From the length of his oiled dreadlocks and from the hard, scarred visage, Sealink judged him to be Dauncha’s age, still in the full rigor of prime. He was predominately yellow with brown striations, spiky black growths speckling his brows. For some reason the appearance reminded her of the hawks back on her old forested planet, with their piercing gazes and lethal appearance. When he spoke, his voice was a combination of cat's growl and rock gravel. 

“Thraen! What is the meaning of this?”

Sealink turned her head and saw blatant discomfort from the deliberate set of the young yautja's shoulders. Her mouth stretched in a vicious grin. 

“So, name is Thraen,” she said, and found it delicious the way his jaw clenched. 

“Silence!” the scarred yautja said. When Sealink held her tongue, he turned his orange gaze on the young yautja. "Explain."

Thraen shrugged, his mandibles moving in lazy circles so reminiscent of Dauncha Sealink shivered on the spot. 

“What is there to explain? This ooman believes it can—”

The yautja commander leaned in Thraen's face, so close Sealink could barely make out his words. He hissed, “Don’t jerk me around. We all know this creature is Oo-kai'dha, the same one responsible for your sire’s death and your clan’s fall from honor.” 

Thraen’s mandibles froze in mid-circle. The young yautja went stiff, a faint, greenish flush gathering on his cheeks. The look he shot Sealink made her want to bolt in the nearest hole. She inclined her head instead, baiting him. 

The yautja commander spoke again, still in the low voice, low enough so she had a hard time discerning what was being said. It was then it occurred to the young woman this yautja was trying to spare the younger one more humiliation. Was he some sort of ally? A benefactor? Mentor, even? Sealink’s eyes narrowed. It would make sense—Thraen was still young and in need of guidance when Dauncha died. Someone would’ve had to continue his studies, protect him against his own kind. 

“I don't know what you're thinking of accomplishing by bringing her back alive, but until you kill her, it doesn't look good.”

“We have an arrangement,” Thraen said, but even to Sealink's ear it sounded hollow. The blush deepened. The young yautja refused to avert his gaze on what seemed to be sheer pride alone.

The scarred yautja stepped so close to Thraen they could've tangled tusks. Sealink strained her ears to hear: “You're in this neck deep. I can't protect you this time.” Then the commander moved back. In a carrying voice he said, “We’re escorting Oo-kai'dha to the council of elders.”

“And kainde amedha,” Sealink said. “Goes too.”

The commander growled. “Don’t push your luck, tech-ne lou’dhret,” he said, but amended with ill grace, “And the kainde amedha.” He leaned close enough to Sealink for her to smell his hot breath. His orange eyes seared into her. “I know what you’re capable of. If you or the praetorian so much as nudge a toe out of line, we’ll kill you both.”

Sealink nodded with as much pride she could muster, and soon fell into step amongst the escort. The spears never lifted. The yautja didn’t know how to respond to Zizar’s seemingly docile behavior—he was a praetorian, a far more vicious counterpart to the drone, which, by itself, was a more than savage opponent. They followed him as if he were to burst into violence at any moment, their grips on their weapons ready for the slightest twitch of menace. Sealink wanted to laughed at their fear, but she buried the urge under the layers of cold Xenomorph Queen persona. She never stopped walking with her head held high, despite the hordes of yautja stopping everything they were doing to gawk, unabashed, at the outlandish procession. Mutters followed the stares, too low and overlapping to discern, but Sealink had a very good idea of their topic. Ahead of her, Thraen never once acknowledged the low pulse of surprise and suspicion. She supposed he was use to mutters and discontent. The mutters grew louder and more insistent the deeper they went into the yautja acropolis. At last Sealink could make out _That’s Oo-kai’dha—I’d recognize it anywhere_ and _Is that an actual praetorian? Why is it_ and _the fool’s doing—_

Sealink turned her head to look at the crowds. A guard barked, “Eyes upfront!”

_This is it,_ she said to Zizar through their telepathic link. She wanted to wiggle with giddy triumph. _We’ve made it._

_Yes,_ Zizar said. _So far._

His brevity brought a feeling of ill wind. She instantly sobered. She knew the feeling intimately, but she shoved it away with an almost savage violence. No—it will work. After all the hardship, after all the suffering, something in the universe would have to grant her request. She would save her people. She would beat the odds. 

The procession brought her and Zizar to a massive flight of stone stairs. The suns and muggy air were merciless. More and more Sealink wished for a cool mouthful of water, or one of the spiny grey plants back on the salt waste. Her calves ached as stair after stair led their way to more stairs. Soon she was climbing higher than she’d ever experienced on the yautja homeworld. She became high enough to see the sprawling dwellings of the yautja populace, and beyond them, the thick mass of vegetation. The sky was the colour of bloodstained sand, the twin suns hidden behind a thick swath of sweltering gray clouds. Her body was plastered with sweat. Zizar showed no evidence of fatigue and hissed whenever a yautja strayed too close. When they finally crested the platform, Sealink was never gladder to see flat ground. She had little time to catch her bearings as the vast temple loomed before her. She craned her head back and shielded her eyes. _It’s ancient,_ she thought. Vine-covered mosaics of hunters locked in eternal battles covered the temple's surface, the aura of power and prestige vibrating from the stone panels. Sealink could only stare awestruck at the sprawling behemoth of stone and statue. Mottled statues carved in artistic renderings stood as if guarding the several entrances, forever grasping their spears in their cold, gray hands. Centuries have built this. A culture revolved around this. Her enemy was bigger, more well-rooted she had ever realized. Sealink felt tiny, puny compared to the might and grandeur of the wealth and strength of the yautja. _Don't get lost,_ she thought. _Remember what you are._ Lifting her chin, she went to step into the yawning depths. She managed a few feet before two yautja flanked her and stepped in her path.

Spears barred the way. Sealink growled. “What this?”

The scarred yautja commander stepped up. “Until the council pronounce you worthy of their audience, no admittance is granted. You must wait here.”

Sealink bowed her head with ill patience and waited as the brown-striated yautja slipped behind the guards and disappeared. She didn't know how long they waited. It seemed forever and a day before the yautja returned. In her eagerness, she almost didn't catch his words. 

"They will not see you."

Sealink stared at him for a long time, mouth and brain disconnected. “What you mean, no see?" 

"You are unfit to hold their attention. You must prove your worth the same way all unblooded do: you must go on a kainde amedha hunt."

At first Sealink was unable to comprehend what he was saying. Then her face began to flush. She could feel herself buoying up with despair and rage. It coursed through her veins and paralyzed her diaphragm, building behind her eyes in an increasing throb. It was a bit late for them to ask her for a kainde amedha skull—had they'd asked her during her first visit, then she would've showered bones over their feet. She would've dragged whole carcasses! Her reputation was known throughout the yautja homeworld: surely her status as a gladiatorial pit fighter reached the decrepit council ears. What, did they forget all the lives she'd taken? Must there be more blood spilt? Was their thirst for death not yet sated? She wanted to spit words in the most condescending, contemptuous voice she knew, but in her fury she forget how to speak the yautja's language. She quivered in place, livid. 

Thraen walked into view and sneered, perverse pleasure scrawled over his hard face. "I told you."

In that single moment Sealink hated him more than she ever did Dauncha. 

"Not so fast." The elder yautja shook his head, a strange grimace in the set of his maw. "As punishment for 'wasting the council's time with inane requests,' you're instructed to accompany the ooman while she proves her honor and worth."

The expression on Thraen's face fell away as swiftly as if it was slapped off. A stony mask quickly replaced the betrayal. As if the moment never happened, he thumped his chest in grim acknowledgement. 

The scarred yautja's mandibles twitched. "And til that day, she is to remain in your care."

Thraen's flesh paled six degrees. In a strangled voice he asked, "This also by council's decree?" 

The older yautja's tone was rough but not unkind. "Yes."

Thraen's mandibles jerked and twitched with increasing violence. He turned away, ringed maw clacking with accelerating agitation. At first Sealink felt vindicated, vicious even, but as her blood cooled and logic took over, she realized fueling the young yautja's hatred would be worse for her. It would do her no good in the long run if the yautja wanted nothing more than to tear her spine from her skin. And if her success in procuring the thrice-blasted _worth_ depended on him, then she would have to avoid inciting his wrath. She wrinkled her mouth. This whole situation smacked of injustice. Now she would have to risk her life to kill more kainde amedha to save her family. Taking a Xenomorph one-on-one in a controlled environment was different than hunting one in a Hive setting. There would be a very good chance she wouldn't survive such a hunt. All at once the hopelessness of the situation loomed over her like a harrowed shadow. She glanced over her shoulder at the temple's passageway in despair. The council was within her reach, not minutes away. Hope, once so bright, rotted at her fingertips. A different shadow fell over her. She looked up, startled, to find Zizar by her side. The praetorian, at once out of place and strangely appropriate, inclined his head in the old, familiar movement. Sealink completed the gesture by reaching up and caressing the smooth, black carapace. He was cool beneath her human skin. She remembered kissing him once, as a human would do to another. Without thinking she wrapped her arms around the thin, corded neck and embraced him. She was close enough to hear the low, raspy bubbling hiss of his breath deep in his chest. 

When Sealink pulled away she found every yautja in attendance staring at her, some their mandibles frozen, others gesturing wildly. She lifted her chin and returned the yautja commander's gaze. With remarkable self-control, the yautja constrained his disgusted amazement and jerked his head in acknowledgement. Clicking a few orders to his underlings, he had them clear the area till she, Zizar, Thraen, and himself were alone. Sealink eyed the young yautja warily. He was nearly shaking, his mandibles shivering under the onslaught of rage and frustration. When his mentor went to move by his side Thraen snarled him away. In one swift movement he heaved Kaylon's skull across his shoulder and without a look to either of them began to descend the massive staircase. The commander let him go without molestation, though Sealink had been sure a chastisement was in order for such a rude departure. She shifted her weight, unsure of how to proceed, inwardly groaning at the tasteless task of hunting Thraen down. Where did she even begin? 

Help came from an unexpected quarter when the yautja commander growled, “Follow me, then. I will bring you to his domicile.” 

 

.

 

.s.

 

.

 

They did not speak once during the long trek down the staircase. Already sore muscles groaned in protest as Sealink descended the last step. The yautja struck up a quick pace, moving through the acropolis with single-minded purpose. Yautja of all ages and genders gave a wide berth, their eyes locked on Zizar. Several trophy-covered males and females thrust their mandibles out aggressively, _kurr_ ing under their breaths as their eternal enemy and prey strode past them. The praetorian acted as if they were beneath his notice, gliding over the ground with predatory ease. For Sealink the whispers were harder to ignore. She knew many recognized her as Dauncha's infamous ooman kainde amedha. She wouldn't be surprised if many of them attended her gladiatorial fights. _Things are different now,_ she thought. She refused to lower her head and returned credulous looks with chilly ones of her own. 

Sealink recognized the old path to Dauncha's abode long before setting eyes on the dwelling. Her breath left her lungs as she turned the corner and saw it. Gooseflesh erupted down her arms despite the sweltering heat. She recognized the place instantly. She would know it anywhere. The five years had not been kind; the dwelling lay buried under layers of neglect and disrepair, cracks and vines choking the sidings. The front entrance looked as if no one had used it in years, what had been the door hanging from one slab hinge. Faded writings crawled over the spaces between the empty windows like wounds. Without waiting for the yautja commander Sealink stepped into the darkened hallway. Cobwebs and the musty smell of mold met her nose. She heard Zizar rustling behind her but the sound was faraway. She walked down the long corridor as if in a dream, following the long ago path of her capture. She found herself in what had been the courtyard. Sands that were once clean and white were gritty and clumpy from poor handling. She stepped in the centre, head quiet, ears filled with the whack of phantom blows of the beating that nearly killed her. 

A movement lifted her gaze. A yautja, hunched and covered in scars, shuffled by, burdened under a yoke of water barrels. It took a few more steps before realizing it was not alone. It turned its head and stared straight at her. At first Sealink stared back without recognition. A slave, perhaps; it appeared as unkempt as its surroundings with its gray skin and heavily scarred visage. But then she noticed how only two claw-tipped mandibles twitched while the others drooped, especially the mangled one from her long-ago bite. Her mouth dropped in a small O. A second later the dim burn of acknowledgment lit the yautja's gaze. The rounded back straightened. The yoke sloughed off. The water barrels crashed unheeded to the ground. The yautja took a step forward, the two mandibles twitching and jerking with increasing fury. A terrible growl erupted from his throat. All Sealink had as warning was the strangled word _“You”_ before he launched at her. She spun away and leapt clear of the clout that would've knocked her clean off her feet. She hissed as he came at her again, swinging wild, foam flecking the roaring maw. She ducked two more blows before curling in close for a punch; it was like hitting solid rock. She stumbled back, cradling her stinging hand. She scrambled for purchase in the clotting soil as the yautja rushed at her, yowling. Sheer reflex saved her from a skull-crushing haymaker. She darted away, snarling in fear. The yautja followed, murder scrawled across his blazing face. 

He was in striking range when something black and furious collided into him with the force of a battering ram. The yautja went tumbling in the grit, gray dreadlocks flying. When he rolled to a stop he remained there for a moment, disoriented, before propping himself onto his elbows. He looked up to a mouthful of hissing praetorian inches from his face. The yautja froze as Zizar drooled above him. The two mandibles spasmed. 

“Leave him, Zizar.” Sealink brushed the dirt from her clothes. She stood up. “He's not worth it.”

The praetorian backed away, head bowing, hands scouring in the sand. Sealink watched as Dauncha's former Head Trainer rose to his feet. A long time ago the mere cast of his shadow was enough to send her into shivers of fear. Now she stared at the ghost of that yautja, a curious mixture of contempt and emptiness tight in her throat. She lifted her chin. 

“Go away,” she said. “Or Oo-kai'dha not stop kainde amedha next time, Ra'ka.” 

The rekindled flame in her old tormentor banked as he glared death at her, unsaid words ringing clear in the space between them. Sealink refused to look away, matching his hatred with a cold one of her own. Her gaze dipped to the long-ago bite she'd scored, reliving a tiny thrill of jealous triumph, then back to him. It was enough. Ra'ka heaved himself up to his feet and shuffled away, frame bent under the weight of years of dishonor. She released the breath she'd been holding and shook herself. She would deal with him later, if it came to that. 

_You should've let me kill him,_ Zizar said. _I would've done it gladly._

Sealink ran a hand through her hair and found she couldn't answer. She clicked at him to follow her back into the hut, but she knew she didn't have to. The praetorian shadowed her closer now, his face nearly butting her elbow. She ducked inside and instantly knew where she was going next. After a few moments of negotiating the abandoned hallways she stood at last in front of her old cell. Like everything else it looked like it hadn't been in use for years. Wisps of straw remained of her old bedding. The metallic water bowl was overrun with a family of two-headed insects. When she pressed her hand against the glass wall and withdrew it, a handprint remained in the dust. 

“This is where they kept me,” she heard herself say. Her heart was a sluggish thing in her chest.

Zizar shifted behind her. _Such a small cage,_ he said, voice low. He clicked quietly to himself, then said, _I understand, now._

“Understand what?”

_Why you pace._

Sealink's brow crinkled into a frown. She turned to face him. The room was almost laughably small with the pony-sized praetorian and human squeezed in. With the cramped quarters Sealink was close enough to see her distorted reflection on the Xenomorph's carapace. She opened her mouth to speak when a tiny movement in her peripheral drew her attention away. She found the yautja commander regarding them from the entrance. The savage, alien face was closed off as the mandibles stretched and converged. Zizar tensed, but the young woman placed a hand on the smooth dome.

“Thraen's life became hell the day they learned of Dauncha's fate,” the yautja said without preamble. “From that moment onward he had to fight for everything—even the right to walk in the marketplace. He's the last of his clan's line; no respectable female will ever bear his sons.”

“That why you help him?” Sealink asked. It was hard to dredge up sympathy when the old horrors of the cell pressed at her back.

The yautja stared hard at her for a moment, the mandibles going quiet. Then he said, “I saw him training, once. I knew instantly he was a genius. I knew then I had to see his education through, social stigmas be damned. He became the youngest unblooded ever to participate in a Blooded hunt. Life became better for him after that. Until you showed up, at least.” His voice lowered to a growl and he took a menacing step forward. “I don't know what type of 'arrangement' you have with him, but you've fucked up his life enough. I won't see that happen again.”

The tension mounted in the tiny room as human, yautja, and Xenomorph glared at each other. Sealink's mouth wrinkled. 

“Dauncha was cause of all pain. Blame him, not Oo-kai'dha.”

“You were the one who killed him.”

Sealink snarled. “Me no wanted be slave. But me slave. Me no want fight. But me fight. But yes, me wanted kill Daun-cha, and me kill him. Puny ooman slay mighty yau-tja!”

The commander's breathing was growing heavy. “I'd tread carefully if I were you,” he said in a soft, dangerous voice. He placed a hand to a knife at his belt when Zizar wrinkled his lips and hissed. Sealink could smell the rising scent of bitter musk. She leaned close to Zizar and clicked. The commander's exposed mouth clenched as he glared meathooks at her. 

“What did you say to it?”

“Me say to Zizar—” here she said the praetorian's name in the kainde amedha tongue, complete with hisses and whistle, “—be at ease. No want fight here.”

As if suddenly becoming aware of the rising hostility and his spatial disadvantage, the yautja uncoiled. He affected nonchalance as he flicked out a mandible. “Fine. If you won't tell me what all this is about, I'll get Thraen to. But mark my words, _Oo-kai'dha:_ I will not see you destroy him any further. ”

Sealink shook her head, frustration rising like the bitter tide. “Oo-kai'dha want peace.”

The yautja snorted. It was an ugly sound. “I doubt that.”

Sealink bared her teeth. She was about to snap a retort when Zizar brushed her shoulder. _You'll get nowhere arguing with a stone wall._ _Let him be._

The young woman knew the praetorian's words were true, but the lure of trying to prove herself was hard to ignore. Why was it so difficult to convince these boar-headed hunters it wasn't all just about them? Despite the sting of an unfinished argument, she ceded. She offered a nod the brown-stripped yautja's way and said, “We all tired and hungry. Go talk to Thraen. See me tell truth.”

The yautja _kurr_ ed deep within his barrel chest. He turned to leave. 

“Wait,” Sealink said.

The yautja stopped, but didn't turn to face her. She took a step forward. 

“Who was ooman yautja?”

The brown yautja didn't move. Sealink tried again. “She was with Thraen, on kainde amedha hunt. She dressed like yau-tja.” She didn't mention it was Zizar who had killed her, or how she had tried herself. 

“That is Thraen's story to tell,” the commander said at last, “and I am sure he'd be loathed to tell it to you.” Then he was gone, disappearing down the empty halls of Dauncha's old domain, leaving the young woman and the praetorian alone. Sealink didn't realize how taut she'd been until she slumped against the cold, hard chitin of her companion's side. She was surprised at how disappointed she was at the yautja's answer. She wanted to know the mystery of the human yautja, enticed by the knowledge there could be other hybrids like her out there. A low croon whistled between the leering jaws. At first Sealink couldn't tell what she was hearing. It took her a moment to recognize it for what it was, and when she did, a hot, immediate bloom of fondness and ease flooded through her. It was an old sound, harkening back to days before Zizar's death, back when he would often comfort her with low-pitched timbres. It was nothing more than a hum, but she pressed against him in earnest, grasping onto the tiny sign of affection with the urgency of a drowning man. Zizar kept crooning long after Sealink stopped embracing him with an almost crushing grip. She _had_ forgotten the sound. It was sweeter to her ears than any other in the three worlds she knew. The two friends remained quiet and in their own thoughts until Sealink's belly rumbled its hunger. She pulled away, grimacing. 

“That yautja never mentioned where we can get food,” she said, rueful and more tired than she had felt in a long time. She placed a hand on her stomach. 

_Then we find our own,_ Zizar said.

Sealink found herself smiling. It was a small one, no more than a shadow. Zizar turned and left. Before following him the young woman took one last, long look at the room. She decided she would never set foot in it again. 

 

.

 

PART IV

 

.

 

Sealink stared off into nothing, hand propped on her chin and the other resting on her knee. The world was dyed a deep, pre-dawn mauve, the sands of the training area almost lilac. A small fire, built from whatever would burn, thrummed near her feet. Roasting in its own juices was the squat, wrinkled-necked fish-frog Zizar caught in the jungle. Occasionally a drip of liquid would hit the fire and hiss like an irritated kainde amedha. In the background, Zizar crunched into the other fish-frog, pausing so often to lift his head and curl his lip before returning to his meal. Sealink watched him for a bit, enjoying the way the orange firelight played on the organic designs of his chitin. Then she returned to her brooding, the whole events of yesterday playing back like a slow-rerun tape. 

_Your meat is done._

“What? Oh. Thanks.” Sealink frowned. “How did you know it was cooked?”

Zizar didn't pause from his eating. Cartilage snapped with a brittle twinkle. _Could hear it._

The young woman sat back with a wry grin. “The last thing I need is burnt food. I owe you.” She reached out and grabbed the spit away from the fire. Within minutes the meat was devoured. Hot grease ran down her chin as she gnawed the cartilage from the joints and sucked the marrow from the bones. She rocked back, grunting her satisfaction. After several moments more of licking her fingers, she fell back into quiet. Only then did she realize Zizar had finished eating and was regarding her with a most intent stare. 

_That yautja yesterday, the one who attacked you. It was clear he was from your past._ Zizar's lips lifted, quieted. The long, double-jointed fingers cupped the remaining bones of his meal and, in a strangely human gesture, tossed them into the fire. _Who was he?_

Sealink eyed the praetorian. She licked her lips and shrugged under the sudden turn of the conversation. “He was . . . Daun-cha's second. Did all the dirty work.”

_He hurt you?_

Sealink broke eye-contact and stared moodily in the fire. It wasn't, 'Did he hurt you,' but 'He hurt you,' as if the question was nothing but a polite veneer. Zizar already knew the answer. She suddenly wished for other topics. She never liked thinking about That Day when everything changed. She'd be old and gray and still remember it with agonizing clarity. She shifted, trying to alleviate the sudden embarrassment of showing this part of her life to the praetorian. Even Damon, though he'd witnessed her gladiatorial fight and had seen first-hand her change, never knew of the initial catalyst that stripped her innocence away forever. She'd lived with the secret for so long admitting it to someone seemed almost sacrilege. Was this how the late Queen felt when She was captured and forced to lay eggs? Had Mèlintèlinas kept the horrors of what happened to Her bottled up inside? Sealink was about to say _I'm sorry, Zizar, I'm not ready,_ but stopped herself before the words could escape her tongue. She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated that even after all this time, the yautja race still had her locked in its iron-like grasp. She found herself nodding. She met the quiet praetorian's regard. 

“Yes. Very much.”

Zizar clicked his jaws in a wet sound. His hands spasmed into fists before quieting in the sand. When he spoke again, the earnest confusion rang as clear as bell. 

_You should've let me killed him. But you didn't. Why? Why, after everything he's done to you?_

Sealink spat to the side. “That's the thing,” she said. “I've already gotten my revenge. I've even had my revenge on Thraen, which I never meant to happen.” Her mouth stretched into a smile devoid of humor. “I guess he's my only regret.”

_Regret?_

Sealink grimaced. How could she quantify everything the pup had been for her? She had latched onto his essence like a drowning man in a storm, grasping on its brightness when the hatred threatened to swallow her whole. He never shielded her from Ra'ka's temper or his father's exploitation. She did remember, though, him tossing extra scraps food in her cell, and how he had reminded her of Zizar so much it both pained and kept her from going insane. The young woman shifted, unsure how to tell the praetorian how much he'd been a influence on her survival, if to tell at all. She also didn't feel like mentioning how she contemplated killing the pup to get back at Dauncha, how she had decided against it for the sheer fact it wouldn't wound her captor enough. The previous embarrassment returned in full force. She cleared her throat. If Zizar caught on her discomfort, he made no sign. 

“I hated everything . . . except him.” She looked away. “He was the only one who didn't expect anything from me.”

A little silence stretched between them, growing thicker with each passing moment. She picked up a stick from the fire and with the burnt end etched shapeless designs in the sand. Somewhere in the jungle a creature cried out, _ytrrrrk-ytrrrrk._ The fire now roasted on a slow simmer, the glowing embers tinkling. 

_Neither you or Damon spoke of your time here,_ Zizar said, handling the question as if it were a live, poisonous thing in his hands. 

“No. We didn't.”

_Why?_

Sealink shrugged helplessly. “No one could help me.”

_I would've,_ Zizar said quietly. 

Sealink stared at the friend she had once lost and regained, mouth open, a sudden wave of unexplainable sadness washing over her. “If only you knew how much you've saved me, Zizar,” she said. She broke off, confused to find her nose stinging. She scrubbed at her eyes, then stared at a faraway point. “I would've gone mad. I know this. When Damon saw me that day in the death pit, I was sure I was going to die.” 

She blinked. _No,_ she thought. _I had wanted to die._ After the constant strain of months of hatred, the chance to escape into blissful numbness had been too inviting. She remembered asking Damon to finish it, to end her life, and only after when she recognized him did her gritty grasp on survival return. _Zizar's right: I stopped speaking to everyone after that,_ she realized. Isolated, confused, unsure how to cope, how could've anyone help her? How could they've understood what she had gone through? Damon had been her only confidant, but he had respected her wishes for silence, perhaps to her detriment. Sealink turned her head to regard the praetorian, the strange sensation of losing something loved holding a death-grip around her heart. She was brought back to a long-ago conversation she had had with Zizar, back when they were still on the forested planet. He had asked her a question in such a bold manner it had surprised them both. She remembered thinking how brazen he'd been, and now, on the yautja planet, he refused to shy away from the questions only Damon dared ask. She still didn't know what Zizar's reincarnation meant, but perhaps this was one of the reasons. She bowed her head to him.

“Yes,” she said. “I realize that now.” 

Another silence fell on the two companions. She looked up, noticing for the first time the twin suns were already tinging the tops of the trees blood-red. Though the air was still relatively cool, she knew the respite wouldn't last. She stirred the last of the dying embers of the fire. Someone, no doubt Ra'ka, would clean the mess. She heaved herself up and brushed herself clean. 

“I'm going to look for Thraen and figure out what we're going to do,” she said. “Alone.”

The praetorian hissed between gaping jaws. _You sure that's wise, Sealink?_

Sealink shrugged. “I think it would be better that way. Don't worry—you'll be the first to know if things get tense.”

Though his face didn't change, the young woman got the unmistakable sensation Zizar was frowning at her. _Alright. But the second he becomes violent, get away. I may not be able to save you like I did with that other yautja._

Sealink snorted. “You think I can't handle myself?”

_That's not what I meant._

She sighed through her nose. As much as she appreciated the attempt at rekindling the closeness that had existed between them before, her head felt as if stuffed with rocks. She could feel a headache growing behind her eyes. “I know.” She tried to smile but it came out more of a grimace. 

Hurrying away before she could hear his response, she left the training area and reentered the abandoned dwelling. She didn't know where Thraen was, but she supposed if she looked enough, she would find him. She passed her cage without a glance and continued right through, ignoring the empty rooms yawning on each side of the passageway. Everything smelled of stale dirt and mildew. She continued until she almost reached the other side of the hut, and by then could hear something moving, and from the grunts, it was a yautja. She tensed, thinking it was Ra'ka, a hand going to the collapsible yautja spear wedged in her belt. She curled her lip. She would kill him herself if he shoved his mangled face her way. She slowed, cautious now. She considered calling for Zizar but chose against it. Hugging the remaining shadows, she peered into view. 

It took a moment to realize the yautja in front of her wasn't Dauncha. When her brain caught up to her pounding heart she recognized the orange brindling was off and the figure was far too slim. The young yautja was naked save for a metal loincloth, his clawed feet bare in the clotted sand of the smaller, more private training area. The sand around him was torn up, as if he'd been there for hours before. His muscles rippled as he engaged a complicated move, twirling the double-ended staff as it were an extension of himself, never pausing, never hesitating in the slightest. As if hearing an invisible cue he flung the staff towards a series of targets at the other end of the small training area and the thrumming _fudddudududud_ of a successful hit filled the clearing. Not even pausing to admire his handiwork the young yautja began a series of fighting forms, his thin tresses glinting in the strengthening red daylight, face tight with concentration. A blade appeared, then another, and soon he was weaving them around him in a deadly pattern, delivering deathblows to unseen enemies. He maintained this for several minutes or hours; Sealink couldn't tell. All she could see was the naked grace and power in the young whipcord body. She didn't know how long she watched him. There was something violent and beautiful the way he moved, not unlike a kainde amedha. The twin suns were clearing the horizon line when she purposefully crunched a twig beneath her foot. 

Thraen whirled around. He froze when he saw her, his mandibles stiffening in mid-jerk. Within seconds he threw a black glower her way. The claw-tipped appendages resumed their motions, stretching and converging with aggressive thrusts. Pretending as if she wasn't there, he stalked toward the targets, shoulders taut. Sealink sighed through her nose and braced herself. She hurried after him, the churned sands warm beneath her feet. 

“Wait—we need talk. Thraen—!”

_“Do not say my name!”_

Sealink balked, spitting a hiss of surprise as Thraen spun around around, froth speckling the ring of his teeth. She side-stepped, already in mid-crouch to ameliorate her chances of escape should he charge her. But Thraen never took a step closer as he panted at her, breathing like a bull's, eyes burning so hot the air felt cold in comparison. Sealink watched, wary, as the yautja visibly tried to control himself. The exposed teeth ringing the humanistic mouth glinted as he looked away and relaxed the fist holding the spear in his hand. When he spoke again, his voice was a cold as a frosted blade.

“What do you want.”

Sealink straightened, but dared not take another step closer. “Talk about kainde amedha hunt.”

Thraen leered at her, mandibles flaring wide. “What about?”

The young woman could feel her face flushing. She struggled not to bristle. “You know what. Me need hunt to talk to council. You need help me.”

The yautja chuckled in the hunter's _kurr-urr-urr,_ voice still lacking the true adult's rumble. Not a drop of humor laced his tone. He spread his arms out wide. “What's the rush? We have plenty to time. Years, even.”

Sealink tried to ignore the ice dripping down her back. “That no part of deal.”

The pretense of humor dropped from his face as the yautja glowered at her. The young woman was quick to continue, “We go on kainde amedha hunt. Me die, me survive. If survive, me go to council and they spare Oo-kai'dha's Hive. Then me out of Thr—me out you life. No more bad honor.”

A strange gleam entered Thraen's eye. For the first time since the conversation started he took a heavy step towards her, all the while shaking his head in a slow, hypnotizing manner. “Ohhh, no. Ohhh, no you don't. We made a deal, remember? Regardless of the hunting status of your worthless Hive, you and I fight to the death. Or has your craven nature forgotten that?” 

Sealink flushed. The hand she'd cut to seal the blood promise balled into a fist. “We no have to fight,” she said, but fell quiet at the yautja's undisguised leer of triumph. It was an ugly expression on the face hard beyond its years, savage with distorted glee. He took another step closer, further closing the gap between them. She could see the sweat on the pebbled, reptilian skin. 

“And what if I turn to the council and say I discovered a kainde amedha they've never seen before? What if I tell them I have found a King, Oo-kai'dha? How do you think they’ll react to that bit of information?” 

She stared at him in horror. “No.”

“Give me one reason not to. If you go back on your vow, if you skitter away like the utter tetch-na coward whore you are, I’ll march straight to the council and tell them all about the glorious prey I found.” His eyes burned a feverish fire. “Go on. Dare me. Dare me to do it.”

Even if she trained for a hundred years, she wouldn't be ready to defeat Thraen's skill level. The only yautja she'd killed was through a Xenomorph's body—Damon's. She was trapped under the weight of a promise she had no intention of upholding. “Me no want fight you,” she heard herself say.

“Too bad. You’re going to fight me, or I tell everyone about your _K_ _ing._ See the hunts on your pitiful world stop then.”

The sibilant threat hung in the air like a guillotine blade, both suspended and oppressive. In its wake they realized they were close enough to kiss. He was hunched, making him only slightly taller than her, allowing her a perfect view of his yellow, humanistic eyes; she could see the capillaries pulsing beneath the surface, could see the pupils constrict and dilate as he focused on her. She could smell his hot breath and feel it puffing on her cheeks. As if realizing their proximity Thraen jerked back as if burned, _kurr_ ing low in his throat, brows lowering in a severe expression. Without another word he spun on a heel and stormed away, leaving Sealink standing breathless, anguished, her heart a tangled knot in her chest. One way or another she was going to fight him. _If I even survive the kainde amedha hunt,_ she thought. She had no idea how to train for one, or what her plan would be; she very much doubted she would get help. She decided to deal with Thraen after everything else. She shook her head. He would be no help. His mentor, on the other hand, could aid her. Surely he would find a way to fund and plan the hunt. A momentary surge of rage at the unfairness of it transfixed her in place. No matter what she would do, bloodshed was unavoidable. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself to relax. On a hostile planet with so few allies, she couldn't afford to make mistakes. She knew she had to find the yautja commander, but all she wanted to do was sit. The pre-morning conversation with Zizar and now Thraen's confrontation made her want nothing to so with hunting, searching, or speaking. She made her slow way back to the campfire and found it abandoned. Zizar was nowhere to be found. His long foot- and handprints led away from the training area and towards the jungle. Sealink frowned. Maybe he was still hungry and was looking for something else to eat. She had no heart to call for him. Maybe he needed a respite as well. 

She walked to one of the pillars and slide down until her butt hit the ground. The shade was cool compared to the rising swelter of the sands, and soon the young woman was dozing behind heavy-lidded eyes, resting. 

 

.

 

.s.

 

.

 

She snapped awake at the first crunch of sandled feet and was in a crouch the next, hissing. The yautja commander stared at her, pausing. He trilled quietly. Sealink climbed to her feet, face flushing. If the grizzled yautja noticed her discomfort, he ignored it. 

“Where's your pet?”

She rubbed sleep from her eyes. “What?”

The upper mandibles twitched. A low clickingrumbled in the thick, muscled chest. “The kainde amedha. Where. Is. It.”

Sealink affected nonchalance. “Somewhere.” 

The yautja cocked a heavy brow. “Really.”

She bristled. “Why you want know?”

“I like to keep track of my enemy at all times.”

Sealink shook her head. “Me said no enemy. Zizar no hurt if no attacked.”

The yautja eyed her long and hard, mandibles converging. “That's what you said before,” he said, tone blank. 

The young woman blew hard through her nose. “Look. Me want go on kainde amedha hunt so me can 'prove' worthy—” she tried not to gag, “—to speak to old yau-tja. That all me want. You worry for Thraen, yes? Me worry for kainde amedha Hive. It same.” When the commander yautja said nothing, she plowed through. She could feel blood pounding behind her eyes as she came to the crux of her argument. She leaned in. “Thraen no help. You only help. Oo-kai'dha want this done quick-quick, even if she die in hunt. If live, she talk to old yau-tja.” She took a deep breath. “Then Oo-kai'dha and Thraen fight to death.” She didn't want to mention the improbability of her survival. She had no dilutions: the commander probably already knew. 

She lowered her voice and stumbled on the rarest word in the yautja tongue. She didn't even know if she was pronouncing it right. “Please,” she said. “ _Please_.”

There was an instant where she thought the lean, hard yautja would remain silent; he gazed at her, exposed teeth clacking as he tensed and relaxed his jaw, seeming to look straight beyond her, through her, as if she wasn't there. Then the moment passed. The orange, strangely human eyes peered out from deep within the sunken sockets. 

“I won't be doing this for you.”

She nodded. A rush of relief threatened to make her dizzy. “Me know.”

“The last thing Thraen needs is more dishonor. The sooner this business is behind him, the better.”

Sealink nodded again, though inside she was smarting at the blatant unfairness. _What did you expect?_ the little voice in her head said. They all saw Dauncha in the right and she, an ooman, in the wrong. She twitched her head. All what mattered was the survival of her Hive, and if swallowing her pride meant that, then so be it. The young woman noticed the imperceptible way the yautja tensed when a black shadow slunk into view. She tried not to flaunt her pleasure at Zizar's return, rubbing a hand down the front of his dome when he stopped besides her. The praetorian's wet breath hissed between the sinewy jaws. 

“The yautja wants to know where you've been,” she said. 

Zizar writhed his lips. The commander flared his mandibles in response. 

_Around. Exploring. Watching. What does he want?_

“I'm setting up arrangements with him for the hunt,” she said. “It'll be taken care of.” 

Zizar bowed his head lower. _You're unhappy._

Sealink hid her grimace and turned to the yautja who was still standing there, mandibles quiet, body in the relaxed form of a hunter waiting for a reason to attack. 

“He out in—” she didn't know the word for 'jungle' was, “—green, watching. He eat things.”

The yautja clicked. “I'd suggest you tighten the leash. You don't want to give us an excuse to kill it.”

Sealink lifted her chin. “Me keep nothing on _leash_ ,” she said. Her mouth added, “Bad things happen if did.”

The commander glowered, the speckled brows frowning in a severe expression. “I knew Dauncha. He was a good yautja. He didn't deserve what you did to him or his clan.”

She snorted, unable to stop herself to say: “It better me kill everyone, then?”

She was unprepared when the yautja looked away. It was a subtle gesture, nothing more than a dart of the eyes, but she saw it as if painted red. 

“Yes,” he said. His voice was low. “It would've.” 

Then he was turning away, sandled feet crunching in the unkempt sands of the derelict courtyard. Before he was out of earshot, he said over his shoulder, “I'll return in half a moon. You will have your hunt then.”

Sealink was quiet long after the commander was gone. Zizar butted her elbow with his mouth. Though it was a gentle move, it still rocked her forward. She clicked at him; it was an absent-minded sound. The praetorian stopped. He stepped in front of her, forcing her to look up. 

_What's wrong._

Sealink tried to move away. “It's nothing.”

_Don't lie to me._

She stilled. There it was again: that tone. No, it was more than that. She stared at him hard. She blinked when Zizar returned it. No, it was more than that: the act of submission—the shifting, the pressing to the ground any kainde amedha would present to their imperious matriarch—never came. Now she stared at him in open astonishment. Was he truly Xenomorph? Did dying and returning give him some unknown power to ignore a Queen's dominance? Even Damon, her royal counterpart, never spoke to her in that way. _Zizar,_ she thought, _what are you?_

_Please,_ Zizar said, this time his voice gentle. _Tell me what he said._

She continued to look at him as if he was a foreign creature. “I'm going to die,” she heard herself say.

The praetorian tensed. _What?_

“I promised to fight Thraen to the death in exchange to talk to the old yautjas. He threatened me to tell everyone about Damon if I didn't. If that happens, everyone will know about him and try to kill him.” She gnawed her lip. “I saw him fight, Zizar. In a hundred years, I couldn't defeat him.”

_You underestimate yourself._

Sealink shook her head. “Even the yautja commander said Thraen was a genius.” She laughed, though it sounded like a pained bark than anything else. “How can I fight and kill someone like him, when I can't even kill a human pretending to be a yautja?” _How can I be Queen when I can't even control my own subjects?_ she wanted to add. Was she growing weak? Could she even save her people?

Before she could sink too far, Zizar's moved closer. His breath was cold on her cheek. _Ever since the yautja stole you away, you have always been alone. When you tried to stop the humans, you made sure you only had yourself. When the yautja came to the Hive, you went after the human alone. But it doesn't have to be that way, Sealink. Let me help you. I cannot do it as your child; I must be your equal. Please._ He was close enough to kiss. _You have me to let me in._

Sealink realized she was rubbing his carapace, palm rippling over every scar and divot. All were unfamiliar. _Of course,_ she thought. _He has a new body now._ There was no thought. Closing the distance between them, she pressed her lips on the organic metal, just as she had done years ago at the lakeside. But unlike last time where she had pulled away and wiped her mouth, she remained there, feeling the warmth of her lips leech into the coldness of his chitin. When she did finally step back, Zizar followed. His mouth was large enough to cover her entire cheek as he peeled back his lips and bumped her with his silver teeth. Gooey saliva slobbered all over her face but Sealink found herself standing still, unable to find the heart to shake free. 

 

.

 

PART V

 

.

 

Sealink rolled hard, avoiding the searing strike that would've separated her head from her shoulders. She was back on her feet in a heartbeat, snarling, crouching low. Her grip on the collapsible spear shifted as she was running forward, launching herself at her enemy. Her enemy saw right through her and rose to meet her, _skree_ ing a battle cry that echoed across the early morning air. Sealink flipped and met the praetorian's blows with a quickness that almost matched his, ducking and weaving the powerful swats. One long nail caught her thigh but she ignored the stinging line and went for the throat, thrusting her spear upwards into the well where neck met throat. The two separated under mutual consent, Sealink panting, Zizar hissing. Within moments he rushed at her, humanesque hands reaching to strip the flesh from bones. She ducked, scuttling beneath the black, shifting body. Withdrawing a band of black cord from her belt, she let one of the hind legs step into the noose. Drawing it tight, retreating, she heard the Xenomorph's whistle of wrath before seeing him launch at her. Never letting go of the cord, she threw herself to the ground, tugging as hard as she could. A squeal like tape being forcibly ejected from a cassette rose in the air as the praetorian toppled to the ground, hind leg cut out from under him. Sealink tried to climb her feet but found a smothering weight on top of her. The old fear of confinement warred within her as she struggled to find purchase with her legs to buck in him off. After a few moments of kicking and scratching, Sealink sunk to the ground, exhausted. The praetorian descended his head and, with the lightest of touches, pressed his secondary maw to her forehead. 

_Dead,_ he said. 

“Get off me, you lout,” she said, and the moment he lifted she rolled away, shaking off the lingering claustrophobia. She stood, covered in sand, the numerous cuts stinging as sweat mingled with blood. 

Since the yautja commander left them all those days ago, Zizar and Sealink trained. It had been a long time since she'd fought kainde amedha exclusively, but the old skills quickly returned under Zizar's tutelage. If Zizar wondered at her proficiency at killing Xenomorph, he never made mention. He pushed her harder than even during the gladiatorial fights, forcing her to learn how to attack and kill a praetorian, not just a drone. All the same, that still didn't change the fact she would have to face an entire Hive. When yautja hunted kainde amedha, they did so in groups of three or more. Thraen would be there, but Sealink didn't delude herself; in no way would he be looking out for her. Only Zizar would be her ally, but as much as the sleek praetorian demonstrated enthusiasm and willingness to enter the enemy Hive with her, she knew he would be in as much danger than she. He would be torn apart. She shook her head, shoving the thoughts away. And as she'd predicted, Thraen was of no help. The few times she did see him was when he slunk into the jungle, perhaps hunting for food like she and Zizar did. He was a ghost for all he moved. Sealink left him alone. She knew their paths would cross again. 

_You'll need armor to protect your flesh,_ Zizar said, pulling her away from her thoughts. He was sitting in an awkward angle, raising his hind leg like a feline to get at the length of black cord. When his mouth didn't work he plucked at the cord with his double-knuckled fingers in an oddly human move. Sealink grimaced. 

“I think I may've just the thing.”

Zizar looked up. _The yautja provided you with armor?_

“Exoskeleton from the kainde amedha I killed.”

The praetorian stilled. A teakettle's warble escaped his gaping jaws. _How did you remain sane?_

“Who said I did?”

Zizar regarded her steadily, leg still high in the air, black cord forgotten. Sealink went over and helped him untie it. When it was removed she returned it to its spool and tucked it back into her belt. 

_I could kill them all,_ he said with the chill that never left his voice when referring to the yautja race. 

Sealink scratched him on the underside of his chin. “That's what they want. Don't do anything crazy until we get the carcasses the old yautjas want.”

Neither of them commented on their slim chances of survival. 

 

.

 

.s.

 

.

 

Several days passed since her conversation with Zizar before Sealink plucked up the courage to face her old enemy.She knew Ra'ka wouldn't be far from the training sands. Since she and Zizar started utilizing the courtyard, she noticed the ex-Trainer lingering at the edges. Several times she caught him staring at her; a well-placed curl of the lip was often enough to send him on his way, but it never eased her worry that she would wake up with a knife at her throat. She hoped she wasn't doing the wrong decision by keeping him alive, and as she made her way over to the hulking shadow, she tightened her grip on her spear lodged snug in her belt. Long purple shadows covered the ground. The jungle loomed. As if sensing her presence, the dishonored yautja pretended not to hear her approach and immersed himself in his task of cleaning a ship's scrubbers. When she was a healthy several feet away, she cleared her throat. 

“Ra'ka.”

When he ignored her, she repeated in a louder voice, “Ra'ka!”

He turned his mangled face to her, growling in a way that made her think of a rockslide, a sound as damaged and foreboding as his appearance. 

Sealink stood tall. “Old armor—me need it. You still have?”

The disgraced yautja sneered at her. “Back to your old tricks, eh?” His voice was thick and raspy like the bristles of a steel comb. It was such a shock the young woman blinked. 

She grimaced with little humor. “Yes. Old tricks.”

“Always knew you were bad trouble. Told Dauncha to be careful. Can't trust an ooman.”

Sealink inclined her head. “Me more than ooman.”

The hulking ex-Trainer snorted a bull's grunt, deep and massive. “Don't matter what you are. You're dead. Seen you _training_. Know what you're doing. No ooman survives a bug hunt. Dead.” The dishonored yautja began to laugh like a human, a heavy, drawling _heh-heh-heh._ He leaned back and crossed his arms over his scarred chest. “Who knows? Or maybe you will. In that case, I knew I'd toughen you up. Always broke em the best. You oughta thank me.”

The young woman recoiled, a shocked snarl leaping to her throat. She curled the soft meat of her lips away from white teeth, and as she stared at him, she cursed her stunted speech. How could she explain to the yautja who'd made her life a hell that she'd spent the last five years trying to overcome the traumas and horrors held at his and Dauncha's hands? How could she quantify her pain in a way that made him understand she was trying to save her people, and through that, herself? She was more than just a killer. She had to be. How could she explain all of this to the yautja who stared at her like he'd rather smather her blood all over the walls than be talking to her? Zizar's words _If you hated everything about your capture, why not achieve your revenge?_ rang hollow in her mind. Why not drive her spear through the soft meat of his throat? She could already see herself stabbing upwards and feeling the hot flow of blood running down her arm. Her own throat worked as she lowered her head. She kept her eyes seared onto his. 

“Me survived _you._ Me going survive this.” 

With a lightening swiftness that belayed his haggard countenance, the ex-Trainer closed the distance between them until a hairsbreadth separated she and him. She could feel the heat radiating off the pebbly, reptilian skin. His hot, stinking breath fanned her cheek as clawed mandible hovered in the space above her eye, poised as if to pierce the white jelly. He hissed, “Try, Oo-kai'dha.Fight again for all to see. Listen to them roar for your death. You were nothing but entertainment. _Nothing_.”

There was no thought. Sealink reared back and, with all her strength, smashed brows with his. Stars exploded behind her lids as she staggered a step, gasping through the throb of pain. Through her momentary daze she saw Ra'ka staring at her as if she sprouted three heads. A hot trickle of blood from her forehead fell into her eye, but she blinked it away. She shoved her face back into his and screamed, 

_“ME – AM – EVERYTHING!”_

For a long moment nothing filled the courtyard except for heavy breathing—light and hard from Sealink, slow and heavy from the yautja. Neither of them moved for several heartbeats, each breathing the other's air. She was the first to sidle off, twitching in step like a spooked horse. The blood was turning tacky as she tried to wipe it off her face. She turned her head and saw Zizar hovering several feet away, long, narrow hands kneading the grit. A line of torn up sand marked where he paced. Before she could voice her surprise she saw Thraen. Her astonishment spiked. The orange yautja too was close, though nowhere near as close as the Xenomorph was. After so many days and nights with little sighting, why did he choose to reveal himself now? Perhaps it was her imagination, but he seemed bulkier in the shoulders, stouter in the mid-drift. His thin, hard face was unreadable as he appraised the scene, the mandibles converging and separating in slow, even circles. When he became aware Sealink noticed his presence, he rattled high in his chest and, without a word, strode off. A heavy grunt pulled her attention back to the scarred yautja. His expression was closed, his tone blank.

“Wait here,” he said. “You'll have your armor.” 

Sealink nodded, unable to speak through the tightness around her throat. She stepped aside to let the disgraced yautja trudge past. It was only when his shadow lifted did she realize her hands were shaking at her sides. She clenched them into fists and rubbed her knuckles. Another shadow fell over her. It was Zizar. 

_You're bleeding._

Sealink waved him off. “I'm fine,” she said. She pressed her fingers to it gingerly. The cut on her forehead stung. “Seems I had Thraen's attention.”

_You had everyone's._

Sealink grunted. “Good. About time I did. I'm sick of screaming at a rock.” She shuddered like a horse flinching off flies. Zizar clicked between his jaws. When he slunk closer she ran her hand down the knobby line of his exposed vertebrae. An image of the mountain range on the salt waste rose to her mind; a wave of nostalgia sluiced through her. 

“Go on,” she said. She gave him a gentle shove that hardly moved him. “Go catch us some food. I'll meet up with you later.”

The praetorian swung away, hips shifting and shoulder blades rising and falling as he headed towards the jungle. Sealink continued to stare at the spot where he disappeared into the lush foliage, her head empty, her thoughts silent. The cut on her forehead had stopped stinging and was now pulsing with a low heat, but the pain was miniscule. It was nothing. She felt nothing. She sighed through her nose, suddenly more tired than she'd been in a long time. 

“Think you're clever, huh?”

Sealink whirled around. Somehow, Dauncha's son had circled around and doubled behind her. Now he loomed at her, head lowered, a strange tension shivering off his frame. His umber throat worked, the curved tusks clicking when they touched. He was eying her as a lion did a wounded antelope, hungrily, appraising, as if all of her weaknesses were his to observe. Sealink instantly bristled. She knew that look: it often graced Dauncha's visage whenever he was growing rich off her. Ice dripped down the valley of her spine.

“What you mean?” she asked. 

“Don't play coy,” he said, voice still pitched low. “You know exactly what I mean. You're trying to get nice with the yautja you've fucked. Well, let me tell you: it's not going to work.”

Sealink dug her heels into the sand when Thraen took a heavy step forward. His words took a soft, dangerous edge, as if steel lined every syllable. “You've ruined Ra'ka's life. Don't you dare presume you can breathe his air like an equal.”

She lifted her chin. “Things between Ra'ka and me, our things. No yours.”

The orange yautja cocked his head in a birdlike jerk. “Oh? You think it's not my business?” 

Sealink cut her eyes to the left. In the expanse of her mind she screamed _Zizar!_ Before she could look up again she heard the whistle of the open hand before it smashed against her cheekbone. She had a moment of weightlessness before crashing to the ground. The wind escaped her lungs in a mighty _woosh!_ Heat instantly bloomed across the meat of her face as pain took hold. As she gasped for air, her diaphragm paralyzed, a hot, reptilian gripped her by an ankle and tore her forward. She was rolled onto her back. Within seconds he was straddling her stomach, hunching over her torso, one hand pinning an arm down and another wrapped around her white throat. He shoved his face into hers. She could smell meat on his hot breath. Foam flecked her cheeks and nose as spittle rained from above. When she tried to shake her head free he forced her still, hand tightening into a vice. The old claustrophobia surged within her and she began to screech, legs kicking, free hand clawing at anything she could sink her nails in. Thraen shrugged her efforts aside as if they were flies. The grip on her windpipe spasmed enough to block it off. She immediately quieted, compelled to obey. _Hurry, Zizar,_ she thought. Her heartbeat was maddening in her ears. Unable to look elsewhere, she stared at her tormentor's visage. She was close enough to see a minute tremor running through the crab-like mandibles. When the hold on her neck released enough to allow air, it was all she could do not to wheeze. 

“It would be so easy to snap your neck. Like bending a fishbone.” The pressure increased on her windpipe. Something went red behind her eyes.

“Daun-cha easy to kill too.” Sealink felt her trachea bob against the hot, dry skin of the yautja's palm. Inside her mind she could hear, faintly, _i'm coming, sealink_. Her body was cold. “Me kill Daun-cha with kainde amedha teeth. Take out eye. Bash in skull. He bleed with throat cut!”

When she realized what had escaped her mouth, she went numb. She had expected many things, all of them including her stupid death. Thraen staring at her, frozen as if turned to marble, mouth agape, was not one of them. She had little time else to contemplate as a roar shattered the air. 

_“THRAEN!”_

The young yautja was ripped off Sealink and tossed as if he weighed a flower. The orange yautja rolled twice before popping to his feet, agile as a weasel. Sealink scuttled upright, hand at her bruised skin. Both the commander and Ra'ka were there; in the ex-Trainer's hands was a old, frayed sack bulging with misshaped things. He clicked when he saw her flushed, angry skin. 

“Careful. She bites.”

The commander whirled on the older yautja, snarling. At full height the hulking ex-Trainer would've towered over the other by a good foot, but Ra'ka never rose from his slouched position. When the brindled yautja charged at him, mandibles flaring, the larger one backpedaled, his own snarls small. The commander swiped at him and scored five jagged lines on the already-crisscrossed shoulder. Ra'ka bellowed but did little more than hurry faster out of the way. When he was at last out of range the commander stormed towards Thraen, who was still staring at Sealink as if she'd grown a tail and sprouted dreadlocks. The commander charged at the smaller yautja, roaring, arms outspread, muscles rippling beneath the pebbled skin. The sound of an attacking opponent seemed to snap the young yautja out of his sudden stupor. Thraen was quick to give ground, allowing himself to be bullied away, rattling. The commander got in one stunning cuff before the faster one licked out of range, dreadlocks slapping his shoulders as he shook off the blow's aftershocks. 

“How dare you go against the council's wishes?” Spittle flew from the commander's mouth. “Do you want a death sentence? Get out of my sight before I drub you proper!”

Thraen didn't wait twice. Still rattling, he disappeared into the derelict complex. The brown yautja growled and rumbled for a moment more before turning to Sealink. His spiked brows cut in severe angles. 

“Procured the funding for your hunt,” he said roughly, the growl distorting his words. “You're leaving tomorrow morning.”

She stared at her unexpected savior as if he'd grown three heads. “Oh.” Her voice was a raspy bucket of gravel. Had the day arrived already? It felt like yesterday she'd landed on the hunters' homeworld. Suddenly she felt she didn't train enough, prepare enough, done enough. She had tried to keep track of of the days with gouges in a branch, but when the days and nights started blurring together, she had stopped. Now none of that mattered. The time had come: Thraen's mentor had keep his word. Tomorrow she would leave the planet for a darker one, perhaps to her death. She didn't realize the yautja was stomping off until she looked up and saw Zizar loping towards her. He balked. 

_You're bleeding._

“It looks worse than it is,” she croaked. 

A kainde amedha's body was not built for gentle ministrations. Without a tongue, Zizar was unable to lick away the blood. He drew in close, mouth hovering just above the wound on her forehead, his cold breath fanning her skin. 

_Who did this?_

“Thraen. We traded words.” _He almost killed me. Sweet All-Mother, I almost died._

Zizar made a sound like a cassette being forcibly rewound. _He'll end you one day._

She shook her head and gingerly brushed her throat with a fingertip. “I don't think he'll try anything after this.” _But he could've. He was so close. But he didn't. Why?_ Before Zizar could speak again, she said, “We're leaving tomorrow. We have our hunt.”

The praetorian stilled. _Already?_

Sealink tried to nod but hissed when her throat protested. Still shaken by her miraculous survival, she bent down and picked up the bag heavy with kainde amedha armor as if in a dream. “Good. I'm tired of waiting.”

 

.

 

.s.

 

.

It was night. A dim cacophony rose from the jungles, a cry rising from hundreds of throats as they hunted and killed and escaped each other. It occurred to her then she hadn't strayed from Dauncha's old complex since the landing. Aside from the brief sightings Ra'ka, Thraen, and his mentor, she hadn't seen another of the hulking, powerful brutes. It was as if she was on an island, trapped in a timeless vacuum. She looked upward. It was abnormally clear. Stars blanketed the sky in a white brilliance, numbered in the thousands. She remembered fearing the dark, hating the nightly reminder of the yautja homeworld. _Now I'm here,_ she thought. It was strange to look up, not in loathing and apprehension, but with yearning. She stared for awhile, wondering which speck could be the salt waste and the Hive she'd left behind. She'd been gone for so long already; what if they thought her dead? She was too far to reach out to Damon or her children; if she died, would her counterpart sense it? A darker thought nestled in her mind. How would it feel to die, to no longer exist? Despite her extensive training, there was so little chance of her surviving the Hive hunt. Her body was human, a fragile, soft container, nothing like the toughness and savagery of either a kainde amedha or yautja. Even Thraen and the commander acted as if they were saying their goodbyes; Sealink knew enough about yautja hunts to know a solo hunt in a Hive was the closest thing to suicide in the culture. 

She heard Zizar's approach before she saw him; she could barely see him as he glided from the apparent nothingness, hardly disturbing the air around him. Dim starlight glinted off his dusky carapace. 

“Couldn't sleep either, could you,” she said. 

Only the glint of nightlight betrayed the turn of his head. 

_I've never been more awake,_ Zizar said. A quiet scrunch of chitin on sand signaled him sitting his haunches in the sand. In the darkness he was nothing more than a suggestion to her frail human eyes; she knew he had no trouble seeing her in his gray vision of sound. She looked at him without seeing. The thoughts from before returned. 

“What's it like to die?”

The words slipped out her mouth before she knew what she was saying. The question hung as if suspended on knotted rope, blunt and clumsy like a dulled blade. A line of clouds rolled in and threw the ground into pitch black. For a very long time Zizar didn't speak, a part of the darkness for all he moved. At one point Sealink thought he had left. She stared at the place where she thought he could be, feeling strange to know he was out there but couldn't see. As she strained her eyes the image of Zizar's face half-rotting in the shade of a beech tree appeared. She could smell the yellow stench. She tried to shake the vision free. Did he remember this too? Did he remember looking up to her, gasping? _What's it like to die?_ She was so engrossed in her own thoughts she almost missed Zizar speaking. 

_It's like catching the prey you've hunted all your life._ Somehow his voice came from right in front of her, as if he'd moved without her notice. It was pitched low, tinged with unmistakeable wistfulness. _It's . . . wonderful._

Sealink sat back, throat tight. She tried to ignore the longing in his tone; she knew it had once laced hers. “Wonderful? But, I remember—” She winced. “I thought it would—does it—did it hurt?”

_Life hurts._ Jaws met in a hollow click. _Death doesn't._

“But you came back.” She leaned forward. “Why?”

Again, Zizar was quiet for a long moment before he spoke. 

_In this life everything is supposed to be as it appears: a human is a human, a yautja is a yautja, the dead remain dead. You are one of the few who bend the rule. You have a human body but your mind is Queen; you are more than what you appear. I, like you, am a bend in appearance. I can't explain it anymore than you can quantify your nature, Se._

Sealink jolted back as if burned. She stared, face flushing, hands freezing. She tried to make Zizar out, surely he was but a foot in front of her, but couldn't. “Before you died,” she said, breathless. “You—”

_You never get over me calling you that._

“You never stopped using it.” Something hot ran down her face. “That silly youngling name.” 

All around them the jungle thrummed with life, a mournful _urck-urck-urck_ calling out for an answer that never came. A balmy wind came through and the clouds released their clutch on the stars. Light returned and Sealink saw Zizar sitting canine-style several feet from her, ribbed tail quiet on the sands, his eyeless, domed skull regarding her. The young woman leaned back against the wall of Dauncha's dwelling and never took her gaze off him. The dull sheen of stars glinted against his exoskeleton, giving him an eerie, outer-world appearance, as if he wasn't really there but a part of her imagination. She wiped the sticky tear tracks away with a cursory hand.

“I've defeated so many enemies,” Sealink said. “I survived being entertainment for the yautja, survived a human colony, survived the salt waste. I've even survived from being a host to the kainde amedha all those years ago. Every single time I made it through. Not this time. I don't think I'm coming back from this one, Zizar.”

_You sure you're going to die?_

“I still don't know what to do when I get to the Hive,” she said. She chuckled again. She didn't know why her chest felt so light. She felt herself smiling. “And that's not even including my fight with Thraen. Maybe Damon's right. Maybe my luck's run out.”

_So you can predict the future now, ah?_

Sealink laughed. A silence fell between the two friends, a silence the jungle picked up with ease. For a while Sealink listened to the cacophony, fading in and out, her mind sluggish with exhaustion but tight with nerves. At one point she was unsure whether she was awake or dreaming. Something shifted in front of her, the rough scratch of sand disturbing her. Without thinking she made room as the praetorian settled himself besides her, his chitin jagged and cold but still a comfort. She leaned against him and closed her eyes to the rhythm of his slow breathing. Sleep hovered beyond her grasp, mockingly near. Sleep was like death then, always close, just beyond reach. She had yearned for death once, but for all the wrong reasons. _I think I won't mind it when it comes,_ she thought, _but not before I accomplish what I set out to do._ Death was not an option now. She felt like laughing and being sick to her stomach at the same time. She had rules to bend.

.

 

.s.

 

.

 

The sunrise was tinging the treetops red when the yautja commander came for her. Sealink was already awake when he strode into view. She'd seen the stars disappear and night morph into dawn. Bags clung beneath her eyes, tight with exhaustion, but she never felt more awake. Her entire body buzzed as she got up to meet him. Neither exchanged words. Zizar stayed close behind, sand crunching beneath his long, black palms as the commander led Sealink and him away from Dauncha's dwelling with little fanfare. As the young woman dipped under the derelict entranceway, she had the strangest feeling she was leaving behind a sanctuary. The yautja's long strides gave her little time dwell on the odd emotions, the bag of armor slapping her thighs as she jogged to keep up. Strengthening light stained the hard-packed ground red. She stuck close, head craning all around her at the yautja acropolis she hadn't seen in so long. The population was still asleep; Sealink caught sight of two grizzly hunters coming out of stone huts, their dreadlocks long and oiled. They rumbled when they saw her. Her guide led her towards the outskirts, away from the main vein. It didn't take long before they arrived at the ship. It was smaller than the previous ones she'd ridden in, its lines sleek and jagged. _Won't be able to avoid each other this time,_ she thought. It was then she realized Thraen stood in the shadow of the ramp, dressed in light armor and in thermoregulating mesh. She squared her shoulders. The young yautja straightened when he noticed the small party and went to meet them. 

Sealink hung back as the two yautja stood toe-to-toe, their height discrepancies making the commander look down and Thraen look up. The spontaneous _He's going to be lean like his father_ flashed through her mind _._ She watched them thump fists to the other's chest, rumbling a note she'd heard only once before, when Dauncha greeted his son long ago. She looked away, the feeling she was intruding on a private moment overwhelming. When she looked up again Thraen was disappearing up the ramp and into the dark depths of the ship. The commander was regarding her, the sunrise painting him deep red. 

“You go ahead,” she said to Zizar. “I'll be right behind you.”

As the praetorian headed towards the ship, she made her way to the commander. She stopped in front of him and lifted her chin. 

“When Oo-kai'dha comes back, you take me to old yau-tja.”

The commander inclined his head the barest increment. “Return with honor, or not at all. Good hunt.”

With a final nod, Sealink turned and followed Zizar into the metal throat. When she crossed the threshold the ramp began closing with an electronic whine. Little by little the light disappeared until at last she was cast in the red murk. The air was only slightly bitter, but she knew it would get worse as time passed. She closed her eyes and breathed through the stirrings of claustrophobia. When the walls began to rattle under the pressure of the thrusters, she reopened them. Zizar appeared by her side, nothing more than a red suggestion. They waited out the worse of the shudders and roars until at last the familiar hum of machinery permeated the walls. 

 

.

 

.s.

 

.

 

The strange sensation of dreaming while awake didn't shake off. Again trapped in the timeless void of a gloomy ship, Sealink didn't know if it was night or day, late or early, or how many days had passed. Without even a window to see the stars, the monotony quickly turned the hours dull. With such a small ship, she was loathed to have a confrontation with Thraen. She stayed in her room as long as she could, sleeping, dozing, staring at the empty metal walls of her tomb to eschew him. Zizar hardly moved from his resting position, head between quiescent hands. When the urge to pace came, she tried to sleep it off. Any trip she made out of the room was quick and brief. She steered clear of the command bridge. She had found the ration of food the day _night? hour?_ before and would dip by to snatch a length of what looked like dried meat. It had little taste to it and made her jaw ache to gnaw, but it satisfied her belly. Water had been a little harder to find, but when she did, she made sure she lapped up enough to maintain her strength. She tried to judge going when Thraen wouldn't be, but at last her luck ran out. She entered the room, hoping for a drink of water. She noticed the lights glinting off the dreadlocks too late; half already into the confined space, she froze. Thraen looked up and stiffened. She spun to flee. 

“Wait!”

Belly tight with trepidation, every instinct screaming at her to run, Sealink slowly turned until she faced him, half-crouched. When he took a step forward she snarled. The yautja stopped, trilling quietly. 

“Before, when you spoke of my father's death, what did you mean, 'killed with kainde amedha teeth'?' 

Sealink growled and tightened her stance. “Why? Want finish killing me?”

Thraen shook his head. “I lost control then. It won't happen here.”

She snorted. Her mouth wrinkled. “Me smell your hatred. Why want me talk about sire's death?”

“Because—” He took another step forward, causing her to shriek. The cry was so eerily Xenomorph the yautja jerked back. The two stared at each other, the small room quickly filling with Sealink's panting. Thraen lifted his hands, palms up, an almost indiscernible chitter rising from his throat. Sealink blinked at the miniscule act of peace. Thraen continued: “Because I'm confused. Did you kill him, or a kainde amedha?”

She frowned. She rose out of her semi-crouch in increments, still acutely aware she was between a wall and him. “Me did. In kainde amedha body.”

Thraen rattled. “What?”

Sealink grunted. “Me no yau-tja words explain what happens, but Oo-kai'dha's mind go inside kainde amedha body. Can control. With body, me kill Dau—me kill sire.”

For a long moment the yautja was quiet, his mandibles twitching in slow passes. Sealink considered inching her way out, but knew it was no use. He was too close; if he wanted to, he could grab her arm and break it. The bitter, oily air smothered her. Her bruised throat bobbed with each swallow.

“You're telling me your human body didn't kill him, but a kainde amedha's.” 

“Yes.”

Thraen sat down on the metal bench behind him, churring lowly. The lighting was too poor for her to to see his expression. Sealink took the opportunity to slip out of reach and stood in the doorway, the fresher air at her back clearing her head. 

“Why you want know this?” she asked when Thraen made no move to speak. “Why you so want-know?”

The yautja lifted his head to her. The mandibles were perfectly still. The overhead lighting cast his sockets in total shadow, giving him a haggard, skull-like appearance. 

“Because this changes things,” he said, his voice so low Sealink had to strain to hear. 

She frowned. “How—”

A growl stopped her. “Please,” he said. It was then she realize his mandibles weren't still, but shaking. “Get out.”

Sealink didn't need to be told twice. She fled and hurried back to her room, close to running by the time she reached it. Zizar was waiting for her. He didn't say anything, nor did he go to her, but she knew he had heard her screech. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to dispel the strange conversation from her mind. Why was Thraen so interested in Dauncha's death? Before he didn't allow her near the subject. _It did stop him from breaking my neck,_ she thought. She shuddered at how close her gross lapse in judgement almost killed her. She didn't know what she'd been thinking, if she had at all. _You're still alive. Get over it. It doesn't matter to you._ She was glad Zizar didn't feel like in the probing, questioning mood, and without speaking, went over to him and curled up in the hollow of his side. 

Hours _day night_ later, the walls began to shake. She held onto Zizar for stability as the small ship shuddered and groaned, the roar of the thrusters fighting gravity deafening. She was nearly bucked off the praetorian when the ship gave a final careening warble. All was still for a minute before Sealink clutched at her head, gasping. 

_WHO ARE YOU._

The words were searing, like light from a sun, and just as hot. She sensed a massive presence, but she couldn't see it over the power of the words. She felt Zizar at her side, but as if from a distance, as if she were miles away and her consciousness was looking down from high above. She could dimly sense him pawing at her mind as a dog would a door to escape the rain, but she couldn't hear him over the brightness. She clenched her eyes and gritted her teeth. 

_Get out,_ she said. _GET OUT!_

As sudden as it came, the presence in her head disappeared. The light receded, leaving behind a high-pitched ringing in her ears. She pulled away from herself in slow increments, opening her eyes first, then uncurling from the ball she had rolled into. She ignored Zizar's attempts to get her to her feet and used the ship's wall to climb in a standing position. Zizar sidled back.

_What was that? Why did you collapse?_ he asked.

Sealink rubbed her forehead, the lingering pain remaining like the afterimage of a sunspot.

“The Queen,” she said. “She spoke to me.”

A teakettle's hiss escaped the praetorian's teeth. _She knows. Ambush will be of no use to us._

“No.” Sealink shook her head carefully, as if balancing a water jug on her crown. “I never intended an ambush.”

_No?_

“I knew any Queen would sense another Queen's presence close by. I can feel her feel me. She's intrigued. She wants to see me.” She looked down at the bag of armor at her feet. Every part came from a Xenomorph she killed. 

_Sealink?_

“I don't think I'll be using this,” she said. Her mouth twitched. “Guess I didn't have to talk to Ra'ka after all.” 

_What are you talking about? You should use whatever protection you can._

Again Sealink shook her head. “We both know armor is useless. I'll live seconds extra with it on, which is nothing. If I'm going to survive this hunt, it won't be because I'll be killing drones and praetorians right and left.”

Zizar hissed. _That's noble of you, but do you think that's for the best? How are you going to last if you're nothing but in your soft human body?_

“Going to bend the rules, remember?” She chuckled a little before sobering. She reached out and grasped his face. Her hands were a child's against his large, gaping maw. “No matter what happens out there, promise me—”

The door opened with a metallic clang. Thraen stood in the gap, decked in full armor, masked, the cannon perching on his shoulder like a mechanical parrot. Sealink realize he was dressed exactly as when she'd met him on the salt waste. He clicked roughly, and Sealink knew they had arrived. Then the yautja was gone, disappearing down the metal corridor with velvet steps. Sealink got up to follow. She was stopped when Zizar's mouth engulfed her wrist. His head dwarfed her arm; it was as if he had a white branch between his teeth. The teeth pressed against the skin like feathers, gentler than even a lioness with her cub. Not an ounce of fear trickled through Sealink as she allowed herself to remain hostage. She regarded the friend who had become more than just a friend, who taught her so much in past months. An idea, vague, faint, simmered in her mind, but before it could come to fruition, she realized it didn't matter what exactly Zizar was, or why he'd come back. None of that mattered now. She gently pulled at her hand, and after an initial resistance, he let her go. 

 

.

 

PART VI

 

.

 

The world was a steamy, jungly one, its strange, giant trees twisting high and blocking the understory, so any light that streamed in was muted and hazy. The was damp and cool on the forest floor, and as Sealink stepped out of the ship, she breathed in a large gulp of the loamy, sweet air. Something screamed _kup-kup-kkkuuuppp_ before crashing away in the bushes. Flying bugs hummed past. Purple grass slithered in their protective structures as she went further out, kneading her toes in the dirt. She listened to Thraen behind her, hearing him shimmy his armor in place and make that last few adjustments to his assortment of spears, nets, and wrist gauntlets. She turned around. The yautja stood before her, his meaty hands furling and unfurling. His blank pewter slits stared at her. 

“Is this a joke?” he said. His words dripped with incredulous disgust. 

“What?”

His growl came out metallic through his mask. He gestured at her naked body. “You have no armor on, not even garments.”

Sealink nodded. “This time, no.”

He grunted. “Your death,” he said, then went back to fiddling something with a computer module at his wrist. She looked at Zizar. The praetorian said nothing. 

“Alright,” Thraen said. “We're three thousand _nok_ s away from the Hive. If we stay straight, we should—”

“Me lead,” Sealink said. 

Thraen threw her an ugly glare behind his mask. “You have no idea which direction to take,” he said.

She shook her head. “Me feel Queen.”

“What?”

“Me feel kainde amedha Queen in head. Oo-kai'dha will follow her.”

A second, heavier pause permeated the air. Sealink wasn't lying; since the flash encounter on the ship, she sensed the rival Queen's presence in her mind like a malignant cancer, always there, waiting, watching. It was a beacon lit in red, calling to her, and Sealink intended on following it. Without waiting for a response, she started heading towards the direction of the pulse, ducking large bushes and skirting around logs. She heard Zizar following her, then, after a pause, Thraen. The trio fell silent as Sealink followed the tugging. Twigs snapped at her arms, stomach, and legs. Whining bugs hovered around her ears. Rocks dug into the soles of her feet but none of it mattered. Her body quivered with tension as she headed towards her enemy. The terrain meshed together. Noises dimmed. She felt neither hunger nor thirst, and by the time Thraen hissed at her to stop, she was nearly at the entranceway of the Hive. She stepped back, blinking, as if waking from a dream. Unlike on the salt waste, the jungle surroundings camouflaged this Hive. Its entirety was hidden except for its entrance. The opening was larger-shaped, wide at the bottom and tapering at the top. A strange breeze came from within, like a monstrous breath from a yawning throat, cold and bitter-smelling. Sealink recognized the bitterness from the secreted resin used to strengthen the walls. Her own Hive would be doing it now. For a moment the undeniable fact that she'd be committing murder rolled over her in an overwhelming tide. She stood as if transfixed, listening to the sound of the Hive's breathing. In her mind, the Queen's beacon pulsed. 

Zizar padded to her side. _Se?_

“It's alright, Zizar.”

Thraen growled behind them, his cannon whirring to life. “What's the hold up?”

Sealink speared him with a glare. “No hold up.”

“Good. Now, when we enter the Hive, it's going to be chaotic. There'll be kainde amedha all around.” The mask stared at her, the unspoken fact she didn't have a single weapon on her hovering in the air. “When you kill your prize, you'll have to run. Just because you'll leave the Hive boundaries doesn't mean—”

“Me know.”

Thraen rumbled high in his throat. “Should I not return, there's a button on the command bridge that activates the auto-pilot. It has this symbol.” He wrote it in the dirt with a finger. “Press it, and it'll take you back to the homeworld.” 

Sealink nodded, throat tight. Thraen chittered behind the mask and began to stride toward the entrance. She stepped out in front of him. 

“Me lead,” she said. 

Thraen said nothing, the smooth lines of the mask expressionless. Sealink took one last look at Zizar and, taking a deep breath, crossed into the Hive. The coolness was more apparent inside and gooseflesh erupted across her skin. The breeze ruffled her hair. It was her Hive and not her Hive; it was eerily similar to hers, but different enough to give a strange, skewed, alternate-reality ambiance. She almost expected Damon to come out of a tunnel to greet her. The pulse was stronger now, the intervals shorter between bursts. She lowered her head to her chest and plowed through, entering deeper into the dimness. Organic membranes squelched beneath the trios' feet as they continued. Thraen's cannon whirred and whined as it searched for movement, but the longer they walked, the more deathly quiet and still everything became. Sealink could feel the collective pressing all around her, foremost the Queen. Zizar's lips never stopped wrinkling, shoulder spikes bristling as he slunk behind her. Thraen was a ghost for all the sound his footsteps made, his grip around his spear loose and ready. When the tunnel split into three parts, Sealink went to enter the farthest left one. Thraen grabbed her arm and stopped her. 

“Something's wrong,” he hissed. “We should've encountered drones by now.”

“They watch and wait,” Sealink said. “Queen say, 'Wait. Want see this Queen. Let her come.'”

“What?” The grip on her arm tightened to the point of pain. “You saying we're headed towards the _Queen_?”

Sealink nodded. The pulse was growing to a needle-point. Thraen shoved his face into hers. She twitched when a mandible accidentally brushed her cheek.

“We're nowhere equipped to deal with the Queen. You're proving nothing by going after her. All the council needs is one kainde amedha—a drone would be enough. You don't need the fucking _Queen_.” 

Sealink jerked her arm free. “Then stay. Get drone. If me to survive, me need Queen.”

Thraen took a step back. “You planned this. You knew all along you'd be going after her.”

“'Return with honor, or not at all.'” She kept herself very still. “Me have to save family.”

Before Thraen could retort, Sealink continued her way down the dank tunnel, the lighting becoming so poor she needed to hold onto Zizar. A muffled curse later, Thraen followed, the cannon maintaining its vigil. Sweat beaded her forehead despite the chill. The pressure in her head was growing like a balloon, squeezing her thoughts and sensations out. She counted her breaths to maintain focus, the fear of losing herself greater than the fear of losing her physical body. The membranes were slippery and gooey underfoot and several times she clung to Zizar when her footing failed. Her hands shook as if cold and gooseflesh decked her body, but still she continued to feel as if on fire. Then she heard Zizar speaking to her, but it was _are you alright? what's wrong?_ faint, as if he was speaking from a very great distance. She sent him a quick _It's okay, Zizar_ , but she knew she soon wouldn't be able to hear him at all. The pulse in her head was almost to singing point, the intervals so close together they blended into one steady signal. A sickly green light was growing at the end of the tunnel. Able to see, Sealink disentangled herself from Zizar. She headed towards the opening, sweat pouring down her face, shivers racing up her spine. Before she could enter, Thraen stopped her again with a hand on her arm. She sensed he was trying to say something, vehemently too, but she couldn't hear. Enough of her was still there for her to say, “Trust me,” before she shook free and entered the Queen's chamber. 

The first thing that struck her was the immense size of the antechamber. Dome-shaped, high-ceilinged, it was a room fit for royalty. The greenish glow came from bio-fluorescent fungi clinging to the membranous walls. In the centre of the massive hall, taking up most of the space was the matriarch of the Hive. She was sitting on a bloated, translucent sac of eggs, crouched over it like a spider. She was a creature composed of jagged lines and harsh, serrated angles, all black and glistening like an ebony jewel a devil would wear. Her monstrous, ornate comb swept back and her secondary arms twittered as she looked down at the newcomer to her chamber. Sealink saw her and didn't, her pupils blown. 

_WHO ARE YOU._

_I am Sealink._

_WHY ARE YOU HERE._

_I have come to kill you._

Sealink felt rather than heard the shrieking laughter. It crushed her head in its ringing jaws and refused to let go. She fell to one knee, gritting her teeth through the tempest. Tendons corded in her neck. Dimly, she sensed something hovering over her, protecting her body. It had to be Zizar. She clutched at the kernel of strength and pushed herself up with it. 

_Laugh all you want,_ Sealink said, _but I will take your life this day._

_YOU, KILL ME? WHERE IS YOUR BODY? WHERE ARE YOUR CHILDREN? YOU HAVE NO POWER HERE._

_My power is all myself. I need no other thing._

_YOU ARE A FOOL FOR COMING. YOU INTRIGUED ME, BUT NO MORE. YOU ARE NO QUEEN. I WILL DEVOUR YOU._

Sealink waited out the aftershocks of the scorching words, her head corkscrewing into pieces, as if shoved through a meat grinder. She struggled to gather herself up, gaze locked on the ghastly visage of the matriarch. She could feel capillaries burst in her eyes. Something was roaring above her, something like cannon fire rippling overhead. Shrieks were piercing the fog of her physical ears, still too faint and faraway for her to care, but increasing in number exponentially. Sealink took a few deep breaths, feeling her lungs fill and empty. She closed her eyes, then like an arrow shot from a bow, entered the Queen's mind. An agony she'd never felt engulfed her essence, searing her in a white heat that would rival a volcano's. Sealink was screaming. Her eyeballs were exploding and her skin cracking and shriveling. Her bones turned to dust. She died over and over, her mind mending and breaking to the point she thought she'd gone insane. In the madness Sealink clung to herself, desperate to keep together through the maelstrom. Amidst her screams, she realized _death is wonderful life is pain all i feel is pain pain pain i'm alive i have to be still alive._ She groped for a foothold, shrieking. When her essence touched something, she squeezed with all her might. A shard of pain rippled through her, but it wasn't her pain. She clamped down harder, bringing her teeth into it. The essence beneath her bucked and writhed. Sealink's agony redoubled as the Queen bit as well, her fangs sinking into her. The young woman screamed again.

_you can do this, se!_

Sealink startled, her blind eyes turning. _zizar? what are—_

_fight her. fight her, sealink!_

The Queen snarled at the new intrusion and darted at tiny speck. Sealink struck her from the side, bowling her over in the flash of teeth. She clung on with all of her strength, wrestling with the hot, scorching storm that was the Queen's essence. It was like dipping her legs in lava; all sensations of her being were burned away. Sealink began to float away on a cloud of numbness, the whole of her growing as light as a feather. When the Queen reared up to swallow Sealink whole, the tiny fleck, no bigger than a grain of sand or a gnat, collided with the matriarch with the force of a bullet. Enraged, the monarch went after the nuisance with the savagery of a thousand tigresses, roaring, aiming to destroy. Sealink swirled around her like a monstrous snake, wrapping her being around the twisting, writhing Queen's. The pain, once so fiery and blistering, was nothing but a dull pressure. She couldn't feel anything, and as she twisted and began to squeeze, she sensed the Queen's struggles of attack morphed into struggles to escape. Ruthlessly, almost single-mindedly, Sealink never let go, wrapping herself tighter and tighter around the shrieking, screaming mind of the Queen. Sealink gritted her teeth and doubled her strangulations. The Queen _skree_ 'd, her cries nearly deafening. 

_RELEASE ME!_

_No,_ Sealink said. She squeezed with everything she could give, her damaged essence groaning. Suddenly, the resistance gave. The writhing softened and fell away. It was like holding smoke. Unsure, Sealink released her coils. She could still sense the Queen, but it was a shadow of what it once was. In a desperate attempt to save her mind, the Queen had escaped and locked herself in the far reaches of the body. _It's over,_ Sealink thought. She could feel the cold air circulating in her lungs, the moisture collecting in her mouth and dripping down her chin. She touched her the dome of her head, her mouth. She lifted her head—how heavy it was!—and saw chaos with her gray vision of sound. Zizar was engaging two praetorians, claws and tails flying for dominance. Bodies littered around him like a gruesome audience. Thraen was blasting Xenomorph right and left with his cannon, praetorians shrieking, body parts exploding over egg sacs in acidic rain. Behind him, protected, was her human body. It was sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, chest barely rising and falling. How small it was, how sickly pale. The smallest of winds looked like it could topple it over. Sweat-ladened hair covered the forehead like ink seaweed. Several times enemy kainde amedha came close, but the yautja kept them at bay. Sealink roused herself. A glorious screech trumpeted through the chamber.

_Enough!_

As if striking a switch, every Xenomorph of the Hive froze. They instantly backed off and each one disappeared into the walls as if they were ghosts. She could sense them waiting for her instructions like automatons waiting for their master to turn a key. 

_Do not harm the foreigners. No one approaches them,_ Sealink said. Breathlessly, deliriously, there was not one single complaint. If the collective sensed a change in their monarch, they didn't show a sign—or couldn't. The heady rush of wonder swept through her. She held a primary arm in front of her. It was sinewy, corded, tipped with a long, double-jointed hand. _This could be my hand,_ she thought. The claws glinted in the green light. A sense of wholeness like never before flooded her with the force of a tsunami, washing away all other thoughts as if they were motes of dusts. _Truly kainde amedha_.She could finally have a body match her mind; she no longer had to wear that soft, human shell. It would be a simple business to destroy the Queen's essence at this point; though the Queen was hiding, Sealink could route her and become the undisputed owner of the magnificent body. She inclined her head to regard the half-crouched yautja and Zizar. How easy would it be for her to kill Thraen now. In her new body, she could crush her opponent at last. She could return to the salt waste, at last ravishing, at last at peace. 

_I have what I want. I finally have . . ._

She regarded the hand again, the hand both hers and not hers, the hand she had tried so hard to achieve. It was truly beautiful in her echolocation, savage and lean, built to destroy worlds and create armies of children. It would've engulfed her human body, a single digit sufficient to crush the fragile thing. So easy. So quick. Why couldn't she have it? Hadn't she suffered enough, sacrificed enough? She rotated hand in front of her, an aching sadness replacing the wonder from moments before. She dropped it to her side. She bowed her elongated head, clacking. _Goodbye._ The instant the world permeated her mind the Queen instantly rallied, her essence shooting out of its hiding nook. She scrabbling for a foothold, shrieks ringing, but Sealink pressed on. She brought the knifed edge of the tail to her own throat. With a slice, she cut through the chitin as if it were paper-thin leather. Acidic blood exploded out in an arterial torrent. There was strangely little pain. She could feel her grasp slipping, as if her essence was turning ethereal. The Queen was fighting with everything she had, roaring, but Sealink knew it was too late. She brought the tail up and the last of her strength, brought the knife down. There was a suspended moment where the Queen roared in furious agony and Sealink hovered in the space of body and not-body. Then the moment ended, and a black sea swallowed her whole.

 

.

 

.s.

 

.

 

Sealink was dead. She floated on a painless cloud, anything passing behind her eyes hazy and blown out. She was as light as a butterfly, a leaf on a stream. Several times she thought she recognized Thraen _why are we in a jungle?_ , but she knew it had to be her spirit saying goodbye to old enemies. _He'll be better than his father,_ she thought—a death thought. Once or twice it appeared as if he noticed her and leaned over, but that was impossible. She was dead. She had killed the Queen, and in doing so, herself. There was nothing left. Sealink was fully prepared to accept that fact and to float away on death's comfort, had it not been for the dawning shards of pain. It had been slight at first, barely noticeable. Then the discomfort swelled to the sensation of biting, gnawing ants crawling over every inch of her body. She squirmed to alleviate the strange pain, but it only grew worse. She drifted in and out, sometimes aware of the red darkness all around her, the hum in the air, then not. The crawling-ant sensation turned into fishbones driving into her skin. Fishbones turned to poisoned fangs. No matter how much she twisted and shuddered, there was no relief. She couldn't understand. She cried out to escape the torture, but help never came. Something hovered over her, dark, sleek, but she couldn't see. Her eyes were gone. Her bones were melting. She couldn't moved. Something wet dripped on her forehead, then went away. 

By the time Sealink opened her eyes and saw the inside of the yautja scout ship, her body was soaked with sweat and wracked with tremors. She felt stuffed in a body ten sizes too small; the slightest pressure on her skin brought glassy corkscrews of pain behind her lids. She couldn't feel her legs. She stared up at the metal ceiling, eyes faraway. _I'm alive,_ she thought. She blinked once before blacking out, the pain too much. 

 

.

 

.s.

 

.

 

The intervals between awareness and floating grew shorter and shorter until Sealink became coherent for most of the time. She could prop herself in a sitting position, but she still had no sensation below her hips. Her legs stretched out in front of her like sticks of living meat, there but not there. She tried to ignore the growing dread at their stillness and clung to Zizar as a distraction. The praetorian appeared not heavily damaged; other than a few healing gouges and slashes, he was whole. He was larger now, full grown; in the darkness, he was beautiful. When he noticed Sealink fully awake, he crooned for hours, the rough hum filling her with an exhausted joy. It took some time before she could use mouth to speak, and longer still to use her telepathy. Her head still felt as if stuffed with cacti, and using telepathy sent needles of agony behind her eyes. 

“I killed the Queen?” Sealink asked, softly, as if to herself. Her tongue hurt. Her throat hurt. Memories were confused and hazy. She thought she remembered a serpent of fire, screams, searing pain, but maybe that was something else. Zizar lay in front of her, stretched on in the pose of a sphinx. They had been alone for hours, the hum of machinery and engines filling the silence between them. She rubbed her forehead. “You saved me, I think.”

_I only helped. You were the one who defeated her. Cut her throat with her own tail. Decapitated herself. I brought back the head—_

“What? You have the head? Here? On the ship?” 

_I knew you needed proof of a kill for the council, so while the yautja was carrying you back, I dragged the head._

Sealink shook her head, an ache growing behind her eyes. “Wait, what? _Thraen_ was the one who carried me back? What about the Hive kainde amedha? Didn't they try to attack?”

_Your last command was strong enough to keep them at bay. When the Hive Queen died, they disappeared in the bowels of the Hive._ Zizar was quiet for a moment. _I think it's best if you and the yautja speak._

“Bring me to her.”

_Her?_

“The Queen's head. Bring me to her.” Her mouth twitched. “You're going to have to carry me; my legs aren't working yet.”

_They'll heal soon; they just need more time,_ he said. Then he bent down.

Gritting, grunting, Sealink pulled herself up onto Zizar's shoulders by his tubules, her arms shaking with exertion. After some maneuvering, she managed to sit herself on the praetorian, just behind his neck. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead but she ignored it, concentrating instead on not letting go. The corridor was quiet, save for the low, distant humming of the engines. _You can do this._ She breathed hard through her nose. _You can do this._ Her hands were white from the force of their grip. She was focusing so hard on not falling she didn't realize they had arrived on the cusp of the cargo hold. It was the largest room of the ship, expansive enough to hold twenty, thirty praetorians. In the centre of the cargo hold, regal in death, was the Queen's head. She was propped against several metal creates, the ornate comb glinting red under the overhead lights. Her lips were fixed in a snarl, her translucent teeth sharp and dead. She appeared to be sleeping. Sealink swallowed hard. 

“Bring me closer.”

Zizar's nails clicked against the metal grating. When he became near enough Sealink slid off his shoulders, her legs thudding on the floor in a useless heap. She ignored Zizar's hiss of consternation and crawled the rest of the way, stopping just in front of the skull. She half expected a cold breath to fan her face when she did, and experienced a strange disappointment when found none. She touched the dry, cold dome, her hand like a child's compared to impressive size. The Queen was still, too still. _You were my opponent, but never my enemy,_ Sealink thought. _Someone had to die, and that someone was you._ Pulling herself closer, she turned and leaned against the skull. Its sloped edges followed the natural contour of Sealink's spine, and for the first time in what felt like since she was a girl, the young woman let herself relax. She sunk against the cold shell, every bone exhausted. 

“I think I'll stay here a for a bit,” she said.

_You sure?_

Sealink closed her eyes. “I'm sure.”

She could feel him regarding her, but she didn't care. She was tired, more tired than she'd ever been in a long time. She felt she'd lived ten lifetimes in the span of a breath. A Queen. She'd defeated a Queen, and lived. But instead of triumph, all she could feel was weariness. It didn't matter if she'd survived a kainde amedha matriarch—she still would have to fight Thraen back on the homeworld, and her legs still weren't working. The strife never ended. All she wanted to do was sleep, so despite the sense of being watched, she tried ignored it. It was easy at first—she knew Zizar would eventually bored and leave her alone. As minutes stretched, she realized he wasn't budging. She frowned, a flash of irritation flaring hot. She opened her eyes.

“Zizar, you really should—”

Zizar was gone. Thraen was staring at her, squatting on his heels not three feet away, maskless. He was motionless, as if he'd been crouching there for hours. She stared back without blinking, the weariness in her mind blunting much of her surprise. The yautja before her shifted, upper mandibles curling. 

“I look at you and all I see is an ooman female. A pitiful specimen, hardly worth a second glance. You aren't tall. Your muscles aren't large or well trained. You make mistakes suckling pups know not to. Yet,” he said, clicking lowly, “you managed to take down a Queen kainde amedha without moving a muscle. I understand, now. My father was a fool to underestimate you, and died because of it.” 

“You carry me out of Hive,” she said.

“I needed you alive.” His steady, unaffected tone matched hers. She wondered if she had fallen asleep and this was one of her real-not-real dreams. 

“Alive?” 

“You need to tell the council what you told me. How you were a kainde amedha when you slew my sire.”

“That change things?”

“It's honorable to be killed by a kainde amedha, not some ooman female slave. I can have my clan's dishonor expunged with your testimony.”

“So, think old yau-tja listen to Oo-kai'dha now?”

Thraen trilled quietly. His gaze flitted to the head Sealink was leaning on. “They would be fools not to.”

She regarded the young yautja. “If me say this, we no fight to death.”

One of his mandibles twitched. The eyes narrowed. “What if I still wanted your skull? You did just put me through ahunt for a _Queen_.”

Sealink's lips curled. “You want honor more than want Oo-kai'dha skull.”

The yautja grunted. He suddenly rose to his feet. Sealink remained where she was, again strangely unperturbed at his proximity. Then again, even if she wanted to move, her legs were useless. She lifted her head to look at him. She both saw him and not saw him, as if he were a ghost and she was seeing an afterimage, a mirage. Several streaks of blue gel covered long gashes on his shoulders and muscular torso. He would sport scars. She heard him say something about their proximity to the homeworld, but she knew she was fading fast. Her chin nodded to her chest. The cold sweat was back on her brow, but none of it mattered.

 

.

 

.s.

 

.

 

Sealink ate and rested the best she could as time drifted between her fingers. Her legs continued to remain lifeless, but she told herself they needed more time to heal. Thraen appeared several times to coach her on what to say to the council. If he noticed her lack of walking, he kept it to himself. He forced her to memorize the phrase _Nain-desintje-da—_ 'pure win', along with several others, pressuring her to ameliorate her syntax so she 'wouldn't look like an idiot'. Zizar hovered in the background, watchful, as Sealink tripped on the unfamiliar phonics. Thraen growled and shook his head. 

“It's 'I', not 'me.' Get it right!”

“ _I,_ ” Sealink said, stumbling over the complicated mess of sounds associated with the pronoun. “Must me?” She shook her head. “Must _I_?”

“Yes,” Thraen said. “You better. Otherwise you look like a fool, despite your honorable trophy.”

Sealink thinned her lips. She hadn't considered the council refusing her request. Since achieving the Queen's skull, she thought the council would be bought. _Thraen's right. The head only solidifies my 'worth', nothing else._ Her eyes narrowed. _If they don't say yes, I'm killing everyone._

Thraen's snort drew her out of her thoughts of murder. “Relax. If you don't purposely insult them and say everything I told you, they should listen. The Queen's skull goes well to your favor. But remember to mention my sire's death. Don't forget.”

“Me—I—won't.”

“If you don't, I will kill you,” Thraen said. He climbed to his feet. There was a moment where he paused, half-posed to leave, half-posed to stay. When it looked like he was about to say something, jaw clacking, he disappeared down the corridor, his footsteps fading. Sealink let him go, too caught up in her own mulling to notice. A few minutes later, the ship began to rumble as it entered orbital descent. The rumble turned into a dim roar as the gravitational forces shook the walls. When the worse of the shakes died down and the thrusters took over, Sealink took a deep breath, then nodded to Zizar. The praetorian padded over and sunk down to her level. In a now-familiar move, Sealink situated herself between his spikes, letting both legs dangle down one side. She twisted her torso to grip the two fore struts that acted as a harness. She whistled and braced. The praetorian rose to his full bristling height and began to carry her towards the end of the ship. When they arrived at the ramp Thraen was already there, waiting, the silent head of the Queen at his side. He appeared slight compared to her dark length, too young against her grand age. He was decked in light armor and maskless, just as he had been when he'd first returned to the homeworld. Muggy heat rushed up through the opening, bringing scents of wild jungles and the reptilian inhabitants. Thraen rumbled deep in his throat. 

“Don't fall behind,” he said. Hefting the massive skull onto his back as if it were a sack of bricks, biceps bulging, he strode down the metal ramp, each step causing it to rattle. 

_Ready?_ Zizar asked.

“Let's go.”

The praetorian followed after Thraen, hissing quietly. The suns beat down, the red sky striated with bands of gray clouds. Wet, steamy heat engulfed her in a sweltering embrace. When her eyes adjusted she recognized Thraen's mentor, the brown-striped yautja. He was standing at the end of the ramp, arms crossed, chattering loudly at the pulchritudinous sight of the Queen's skull. When Thraen stopped alongside him and placed the head down, the commander touched the ornate comb, still _kurr_ ing deep in his chest. Sealink made her way over. The commander's eyes crinkled when he saw her, mandibles converging and parting. 

“Worthy prize.” His gaze dipped to the Queen's clenched frozen jaws. He trilled softly, excitedly. 

Sealink lifted her chin. “The council, please.”

The commander nodded, still trilling under his breath. Gesturing to the assembled ceremonial guards, they began to gather around Thraen and the skull. Several scarred veterans brushed their palms against the Queen, _kurr_ ing, before hefting the head onto their shoulders. Sealink fell behind as the procession took off, surprised at the clear air of reverence. The persistent low chitter continued when the assembly moved into the yautja acropolis. Several older yautja reached out to ghost their claws over the black carapace as it was carried past. Not a single one gave Sealink a second glance as the Queen's head moved away. The lack of scrutiny was a relief; she enjoyed the invisibility in the Queen's wake, relaxing enough to let the murmurs wash over her. The crowd diminished the closer the assembly became to the towering steps of the ancient temple. Sealink leaned forward and held onto Zizar's spikes as he began the climb. She tried to keep her cool but the higher he rose the quicker her heart palpitated. Her bowels twisted with anxiety. She looked at the Queen's skull and forced herself to relax. The council would have its pound of flesh. She'd given her sacrifice. She closed her eyes and focused on the sway and rhythm of the praetorian's body. 

Zizar's soft voice permeated her mind. _You're quiet._

Sealink grunted. _I've learned my lesson since last time. I won't relax until this is over._

Like wakening from a long dream, the stairs ended and the staggering panorama of the temple appeared in full view. If possible, it seemed grander than last time, more imperious. The laconic statues glared, as if affronted by her sheer audacity, but for the briefest of seconds, she felt no fear. They couldn't refuse her now. She could enter. Though she wasn't surprised when the commander told her to wait, a frisson of nervousness still twisted her bowels. Sealink watched as the guards carried the Queen's skull and disappeared beneath the stone arches. She placed a hand on her pounding chest. She knew she'd be pacing if her legs allowed her. She glanced over to where Thraen was standing. His mandibles converged and flared in thoughtful movements as he looked forward. He minutely stiffened when the commander reappeared. Sealink gazed back at the brown yautja as regal as any royalty. The commander nodded. 

“They will see you,” he said. He glanced at Thraen. “You too.”

Sealink tapped Zizar's shoulder. “They're ready.”

Zizar started forward, following after the brown-striated yautja. After a few seconds Thraen took up the rear, ghosting behind them on velvet feet. Coolness hit her skin as she entered the stone temple. The ceilings were moderately high vaulted, allowing a breeze smelling vaguely of oily musk and dust to circulate through. The hunting murals from outside continued to cover the walls, yautja in various stages of victory warring against hallowed prey. Several times Sealink thought she saw an artistic rendering of a human, but the lighting was too poor for her to tell for sure. The commander led them down the hallways until he stopped before a large chamber. Zizar drew to a halt alongside him. Sealink looked at down at the yautja. 

“I go no further,” he said. “You must do the rest.”

Sealink nodded, throat tight. She noticed his gaze dipping to her motionless legs. Their eyes met. Her lips thinned. She tapped Zizar again, whistling him forward. His nails _toc_ 'd on the stone tiles in hollow clicks as he entered the council chamber. A skylight allowed daylight to flood the front portion of the room. The Queen's head was already there, resting on the floor just in front of the half-circle of yautja, as if waiting for her. Thraen was there as well. He stood a respectful distance away, head bowed and eyes lowered, as if to merely gaze upon the council was sacrilegious. Sealink glanced back at the front of the room and stiffened. There were seven yautja, all sitting in stone chairs. Every inch of flesh was decked with beads, small skulls, scars, ceremonial armor, teeth necklaces, ornate metal work. One elder yautja wore what looked like avian skulls amongst its long dreadlocks. One had a jagged pale scar running diagonally across its face. Three of them had breasts like Sealink, their tusks longer than their male counterparts. Judging by all of their gunmetal gray dreadlocks and long, elongated mandible tusks they were old, older than any yautja Sealink had ever seen, but she knew they were anything but weak. There was a powerful aura of razor acuity around them as they focused on her, reminding her of the salt wolves back home, savage and sophisticated. She felt tiny under their scrutiny. For the first time since Dauncha's reign, she felt like prey. The Queen's skull seemed to leer at her. _You are like me to them,_ she appeared to hiss. _The hunted._

One of the council males, the one with the avian skulls in his long dreadlocks, frowned and gestured at her. “What's this? Why is the ooman astride a kainde amedha?”

Sealink cleared her throat. “I use him to walk, honorable council.”

The frown deepened. “Remove yourself from it and stand before us. We will hear of this request you have for us.”

She tightened her hold on the tubules. _Let me down, Zizar._

Zizar lowered himself to the stones, folding his legs with a panther's grace. Sealink pushed herself off, struggling slightly when one of her legs got in the way. She physically moved it so she could sit on the ground. A loud rumble stopped her.

“Is this a joke? An ooman without functioning legs killed a Queen kainde amedha?”

Sealink froze, the marrow chilling in her bones. She looked up to find several of the council exchanging growls, chuttering under their breaths. She turned her head over her shoulder and saw Thraen standing stiff, shoulders taut. Their eyes met. His were glowering. Sealink looked back towards the council.

“Wait! I can expla—”

Avian-Skull slashed the air with an arm, _hough_ ing a deep bull's grunt. “Be quiet, ooman!” he said. “We have no time for your trickery and deceit. You clearly stole the kainde amedha skull from the one we made accompany you. We should have known better than allowed an ooman audience. _Tch!_ You are forbidden from this chamber, and for—” 

Sealink _skree_ 'd, the haunting cry so eerily Xenomorph three of the council gripped at unseen weapons at their belts. When the last of the scream died down she found herself frothing in fury. In her truculence she dragged herself forward, snarling like a mad creature. _Not this time,_ she raged. She pulled herself until she was abreast with the Queen's skull and slapped the stone in front of her.

“You will believe, you will listen! I did this. I am Oo-kai'dha, slayer of oomans, yau-tja, kainde amedha. I killed Queen! I prove my honor, yet you doubt? I lost legs in battle with Queen. But she lost her head.” Sealink bared her teeth, snarling. “I have done all this for you! _Nain-desintje-da_! My win is pure. _Now you will listen!_ ”

Avian-Skull rose from his seat, seething. “How _dare_ you—!”

“Nen-yuar'da, be calm. I am intrigued. I would like to hear this she-ooman speak.” The yautja who spoke had the jagged scar running down his face like a great pale swath. Unlike the clipped and furious tones of his compatriot, his were smooth and sonorous, like the grain of an old oak tree. 

At his first word Nen-yuar'da quieted. He turned to the other yautja. “Yey-dtai'k-dte, you cannot possibly—”

“As would I,” a female said, cutting him off with a cursory wave. She cast an amber-coloured look Sealink's way. “Well? Give tongue. You have our ear, ooman.”

Sealink bowed her head, pulse ringing in her ears. “Thank you, honorable council. I am Oo-kai'dha, kainde amedha Queen,” she said. “I—” 

“Wait. Now you say you're a Queen?” It was Nen-yuar'da, no longer shouting, but voice still as friendly as a wasp's sting. “Impossible.”

She met his gaze with a flat one of her own, cold anger bubbling to the surface. “How think I kill Queen? Ooman body weak, useless. No true ooman match for her. How I sit on kainde amedha without dying? Here it stands, without angry teeth or death. Dauncha knew this when he saw me. That why he take me, why make me fight. I command my kainde amedha with mind, as kainde amedha Queen do. Like other Queens, I have Hive. All are my children. I know my Hive is one of training worlds, a hunting ground.” She spread her arms wide. “Yau-tja council, Oo-kai'dha begs you, stop hunting my children. I am the only. They are only. There are other Hives, other hunting grounds. Go there. I offer this Queen's head and my legs as price.” 

Her speech hung on precarious tether-hooks in the air. She waited, not daring to breathe, unwilling to move. The yautja with the avian skulls glowered at her from beneath his heavily-spiked brows, but he relented enough to exchange glances with his fellow council members. Sealink schooled her features into a cold, impermeable mask. She could hear Zizar shift behind her. Though he couldn't understand the yautja tongue, she knew he sensed the moment had come. 

It was Yey-dtai'k-dte, the scarred one, who spoke. “Though it is a pity to waste a hunting experience on such cunning and tenacious prey, there are no objections from us. Your Hive is but one of hundreds of hunting grounds. Your request is granted, Oo-kai'dha, kainde amedha Queen; we find your offering adequate. For the span of your natural life and beyond, we will not land ship or set foot in your Hive, as tempting as hunting such unique prey is.” The yautja rattled. “A word of caution. Though we will deem it dishonorable to hunt your Hive, not all follow our law. There may come a time outlaw yautja seek forbidden prey and attempt to reap your skull. If you are as clever and powerful as you make out, you should defeat and kill them with ease.”

Sealink's face never twitched as the reality permeated her mind. She bowed her head in a curt nod, unable to allow herself anything else. She had little time to feel relief or happiness. She could feel Thraen's glare burning a hole into her neck, cutting into her skin as easy as heated wrist blades. She knew he could tell them about Damon's existence at any moment. She licked dry lips. “One last thing, if may have council's attention,” she said. “I have words to speak of Daun-cha. I no claim credit for his death. A kainde amedha killed him. His death was pure.”

There was several beats of silence after her words fell away. Sealink could feel Thraen's anxiety and suspense as if it were an electric current, the hairs on her nape rising as if staticky. A female clacked her long, elegant tusks together. “We understood you killed him. Are you changing your story?”

“Daun-cha is dead. Kainde amedha rip his throat with eye teeth. That's all I care.”

“How did a kainde amedha entered the ship?”

“I snuck him on,” Sealink said. “He was from my Hive, captured and pit to fight like Oo-kai'dha. Made him kill all yau-tja on ship, even Daun-cha.”

“How can we know you speak true?” It was Nen-yuar'da again, voice as level as a frozen lake's surface. 

Sealink bared her teeth and slapped the Queen's skull. “How else know? My kainde amedha left no yau-tja survivors. I was there. I saw Daun-cha die with own eyes. Oo-kai'dha proved honor. You must take word.”

“You misunderstand our race, Oo-kai'dha, despite your substantial time with us,” Yey-dtai'k-dte said, his cool equanimity subduing her aggression. “Yes, you have proved your worth and strength with such a magnificent trophy, but trophies do not make one honorable. It is the spirit within that allows this, not the external bounty of the hunt. A dishonorable warrior can just as likely take a Queen's head as you have, but still he would remain disgraced. We shall see if that is the case with you.” 

The scarred yautja's gaze was a dead weight, boring straight into her soul as if everything was laid bare for him to see. She sensed him searching for a lie, a hint of deceit, and Sealink knew he would've found one had it existed. But none did. Technically she was a true kainde amedha when she killed Dauncha, body and all. The truth gave her the confidence to proudly return the stare, never blinking, lifting her chin in challenge. Without moving his head a micron, the scarred yautja's gaze shifted till they were spearing Thraen. 

“Well? Is this true, son of Dauncha?”

Thraen pounded a fist to his chest and quickly averted his gaze. “It is, honorable council. Oo-kai'dha speaks without dishonor.”

The council exchanged glances, seeming to understand each other without anything more. Sealink waited with bated breath, the anxiety of before returning to full force. They had to believe her. What other proof did she have of lying? What would Thraen do to her if his disgrace remained? Would all of this been for naught? At long last the council quieted, each of their gazes resting on Thraen. The last female spoke, one of her tusks chipped and another lined with gold. Her voice as deep and guttural as a male's. 

“It seems a change of status is required, then. We have a reliable witness testimony. Since your sire died an honorable death, we see no reason to continue the disgrace. Your clan's dishonor is lifted, Thraen, son of Dauncha; be free of its weight.”

At first the young yautja appeared if he didn't knew what to do, standing with his mandibles frozen and eyes wide. When enough sense returned he thumped his chest with a fist and bowed his head. He croaked what sounded like thanks, phonics distorted by emotion. The last barrier broke. Sealink allowed herself to slump slightly, the weariness she'd kept at bay returning with full force. It was done. She had saved her people. She looked at the skull next to her and touched it with her fingertips. _Thank you_.She withdrew her fingers, the inexplicable sadness marring what should've been joy. She looked up to see Zizar padding forward, crooning his rough hum. The council watched with avid eyes as he helped her between his shoulder struts, her useless legs dangling over his side. When she was stable enough he rose. Then, in a clear, unmistakable move, he bowed his head towards the council. A hush descended upon the yautja. They didn't nod in return or make any other sign they noticed the miraculousness of the event, but Sealink was glad. She bit back the urge to cuff the praetorian.

_Zizar, you fool, let's go,_ she said, but there was little heat behind it. His nails clicked on the stones as he turned and headed towards the exit. Thraen followed, ghosting behind them, head still lowered and mandibles stilled in disbelief. 

 

.

 

.s.

 

.

 

Two days passed since the fateful meeting with the yautja council. The moment Sealink, Zizar and Thraen had returned to the dwelling the young yautja disappeared into the jungle and was not seen since. Neither was the yautja commander or Ra'ka appeared. It was as if they all vanished. Zizar loathed to leave Sealink's side, but she needed food. He eventually slipped away on velvet feet to hunt, melding in the jungle without disturbing a leaf. Sealink let him go. She squinted against the sun's reflection on the sand. It was high noon at Dauncha's dwelling and despite sitting in the shade, sweat ran freely down her body, the rough cloth she wore clinging like a second skin. Since hearing the council's decree she was content to sit and stare at the clouds, feeling the most relaxed since hearing yautja land on her salt waste. The last great weight had rolled off her chest. Her mission was complete. No more kainde amedha hunts, no more dealing with yautja. If she ever saw another hunter in her life, it would've been too soon. All what was left was the return home. 

_Home._

Sealink closed her eyes and tried to relax into the sun. She would see Damon again. All her children and family. The barren salt waste. She missed the nothingness. She was done with adventures. She opened her eyes again, slowly, as if unwilling to wake from her dream. _You can do this._ She glanced down. Her legs were thinner than she'd ever seen, the once firm and virile muscles in her thighs and calves now atrophying from disuse. Eventually they would be as thin as sticks, nothing but living bone and stringy muscle. Already her knees were starting to jut out like knobs. A twelve-legged bug crawled over one of her shins and Sealink watched as if from miles away, able to see but unable to feel the sensation of the tiny legs on her skin. Her throat worked. _It's okay._ She let out the breath she was holding. _It'll be okay._ After a moment she lifted a hand in front of her and rotated it. It was a human's, the palm rough with calluses and criss-crossed with lines, the skin tan from the constant exposure of sun and exposure. Faint blue veins pulsed beneath the wrist's soft, thin flesh. She wiggled each of the four fingers and thumb, watching as they bobbed and curled. A movement caught her eye. Sealink looked up and saw Ra'ka staring at her from several feet away, looming. His skin seemed grayer since the last time she'd seen him, as if he had collected a layer of dust in her absence. He chuttered lowly when she noticed him, like the thunder of an approaching storm. She stiffened and put her hand down. They were alone.

“What?” she said. 

“Arndk'dhe told me what you did.”

She frowned, in no mood for riddles. “Who?”

Ra'ka lifted one of his remaining mandibles in a sneer. “Thraen's _friend._ ”

Sealink tried to alleviate some of her discomfort and leaned back against the wall surrounding Dauncha's courtyard. “Uh. So that his name,” she said. She flicked her gaze up. The ex-Trainer was closer now, yellow eyes gleaming from within the sunken sockets. 

“So. Saying a bug killed Dauncha now, eh?”

Sealink nodded slowly. “Yes. Kainde amedha.”

His flat, steady gaze drilled into her. “And you had nothing to do with it.”

“That right.”

The yautja let out a growling chuff. “We both know you were the one who killed him.”

Sealink lifted one shoulder and let it fall, matching his heated gaze with a cool one of her own. “Council convinced,” she said. “That all matters.”

Ra'ka's mangled face hardened, the two functioning mandibles twitching. “You've always been a slippery one. Knew the moment I saw you. Tricking the council—I'm not surprised. They're a bunch of limp dicks. But it was real kind of you, thinking about our dishonor and trying to rid it. Real kind.” The yautja took a heavy, deliberate step forward. “But I can think of a better way. Get up.”

_Zizar, I need you back here,_ Sealink called. She heard a faint stirring in answer. 

“Well?” he said. “Get to your feet.”

Sealink bristled, painfully aware of her handicap. “Can't.”

Ra'ka cocked his head in a oddly bird-like move. A soft chitter escaped his fanged maw. “Oh? Can't run?”

Sealink glowered and remained silent. In a vaguely human gesture, the yautja's mandibles flared sideways to form a horrific smile. 

“So, if I do this—” in a lightening move he wrapped a hand around her throat, “—you can't do anything about it.” The back of her head smashed against the wall and for one scorching second she was too shocked to breathe. Then she realized the grip was loose enough for her to pull in air, but barely. It was struggle not to hyperventilate. The hot, reptilian skin filled her with revulsion and she fought not to twitch. She glared into the yautja's face not inches from her own, hating him as never before. The grip tightened indiscernibly, teasing, his regard mirroring the hatred in her own eyes. Sealink tried to turn away from the hot, stinking breath but he forced her forward. He _tch_ 'd softly, as if reprimanding a mistake. His gaze was feverish, too bright; they locked onto hers as if she were the prize he'd been hunting for years. Sealink's trachea bobbed in the shadow of their madness, the first shards of fear stabbing her stomach. 

“Ra'ka, wait. This no solve—”

_“Shhhhh,_ ” he said, hand clenching. Her air supply disappeared. Terror shot through her. “That's enough out of you.” 

Sealink clawed at the meaty forearm, choking, but it was like scratching at living steel. Her efforts were laughable. She could hear her pulse pounding like a drum in her ears. Her face began to redden. _Zizar! Help me!_ The hulking yautja leaned in closer enough they could kiss. His two working mandibles framed her face in a perversely intimate gesture. His bitter musk rolled over her.

“So you survived. Thought Thraen would have the balls to kill you, or leave you to the bugs. He's young. Doesn't know how _slippery_ you can be, eh? Dauncha made that mistake. I won't.” At the emphasis the grip tightened. Black dots danced in her vision. Her lungs burned. In a desperate move she clawed at his face, hooking her thumb into his eye socket and bearing down with all her force. Hot, viscous liquid spurted in a salty torrent. The yautja reared back, bellowing. His hold released. Sealink clutched at her throat, gasping. She looked up in time to duck the fist swinging straight for her head. Spider cracks crawled up the wall from the force of the blow. Sealink had pitched forward to avoid it, but with her dead legs she couldn't move. She barely had enough time to cough when a heavy hand clamped on the back of her neck. Sealink shrieked, clawing at the fingers and wrist. It was like fighting cement. The yautja began to walk towards the jungle, dragging her with him, her legs cutting heavy ruts in the sand. His heavy breathing frightened her more than the grip on her neck. The old terrors were resurfacing with the force of a tsunami, the nightmare of before curdling in her stomach. She writhed and snarled, unwilling to die like an animal led to slaughter at the hands of her oldest enemy. Tears of frustration ran down her face.

“Ra'ka, no! Don't do this. Don't—!”

“This is going to be for Dauncha, you little tetch-na. Had to bide my time, but I was patient. Been waiting to do this since you bit off a chunk of my face. You're fucking dea—” 

The yautja pulled to a stop as Zizar exploded from the forest. At her angle Sealink could see him feet away, spitting and squealing like an over-worked teakettle, unwilling to approach with her in so precarious a position. Ra'ka roared above her, the hand tightening on her neck until she could feel her vertebrae grind against each other. She could see her death moments away, white-hot and instantaneous. Just as she was about to call to Zizar the yautja broke off in mid-roar. A low, sucking gurgle took its place, as if he was trying to breathe but something was stuck. He began to cough, slow at first, then with greater intensity. Something hot splattered her head and shoulders. The hand around her nape spasmed once, hard enough to make her eyeballs bulge. Then the grip went slack and Sealink fell to the ground as Ra'ka pitched to the side, still-vibrating spear protruding from the centre of his chest. She stared, unbelieving, as the ex-Trainer attempted a few more gurgled breaths before his body went still. _He's dead,_ she thought, stupid with surprise. _Finally dead._ The truth hit her like a battering ram and she slumped, suddenly aware of her bone-deep exhaustion, coughing hard enough to bring up bloody saliva. She massaged her throat, wincing. A shadow fell over her as Zizar rushed to her side. His cool, dark hands were rough as they brushed her shoulder, neck, and face. She allowed Zizar to investigate for several seconds before hissing him away. 

“I'm okay, I'm okay,” she said, voice gritty from abuse. She knuckled the tear tracks away, blowing snot from her nose. She flinched as the praetorian reared up, _scree_ ing a nails-on-chalkboard cry that vibrated throughout the jungle's edge. Without a single word he launched himself at the fallen body, driving his knifed tail into the corpse again and again until Sealink was covered in bioflorescent blood from residual spray. His claws rent the flesh into ribbons and shattered bone, the hideous _scgloosh, scgloosh_ sounds filling the air until all what was left of the yautja was a mess of muscle and bone in a pond of green. When Zizar turned to her he was covered in bits of meat and skin. The praetorian bumped his mouth against her cheek hard enough to rock her back to the ground. Sealink pushed him away until he retreated, still hissing like a wasp nest under his breath. When he froze, every muscle taut, shoulder struts bristling, Sealink looked up in alarm. The owner of the spear stepped out of the jungle's edge, body held in the loose, confident stance of a predator. Sealink rubbed her throat and spat to the side. 

“Let him be, Zizar. _Zizar!_ I said leave him!”

Dauncha's son walked to them, keeping a cool eye on Zizar's agitated jerks and twitches, another spear held ready in his grip. The praetorian gave ground, hissing sullen threats. When it was clear the Xenomorph wouldn't attack, the young yautja made his measured way to Sealink, _kurr_ ing a note of detached curiosity. He stopped inches from the carnage, green blood puddling around his clawed toes. His mandibles twitched in lazy circles, gaze hooded. He stared at the remains, head cocked, upper mandibles lifting and falling as he clicked low in his throat. Sealink stared hard at him, unable to see a single glimmer of anger in his stance or in the expressive mandibles, unsure whether that boded ill or well. She waited for him to say something, anything, but the longer he stood, silent, inward, the more she realized words were unnecessary. Everything had already been said. The tension drained from her frame. When their eyes met, she felt no fear. He inclined his head in the closest thing to a nod she'd seen him give her before trudging away, not even bothering to retrieve the spear still imbedded in the remains of Ra'ka's chest.

 

.

 

.s.

 

.

 

“This ship will take you to your world. It will be on autopilot. I programmed it to land at the same coordinates as the last time. ”

Sealink squinted against the rising sunlight of the early morning. The ship was the smallest she'd ever seen—had she'd known the name, she would've likened it to an escape pod. It was no more than fifty feet long from bow to aft and twenty feed wide. Its surface was a dull, mottled finish. Twin thrusters rested on either side like wings of an eagle. A heavy odor of ozone rose from them. Zizar shifted beneath her, chuffing low and soft. 

“The voyage will last ten solar cycles. You have been provided with enough food and water to last.”

The scents from the jungle were keen and fresh this time of the morning. She closed her eyes and breathed in the pungent aroma of moist soil and humid air, the sharp, metallic fumes surrounding the ship's thrusters, and beneath it all, caught the barest hint of bitter musk surrounding Thraen as he stood near her side. 

“The tracking beacon located on all ships has been deactivated in this one. Once you leave planetside, we won't be able to follow. Neither can we assist should there be any malfunctions.”

_I hated this world,_ she thought. Hated its people, hated its culture. Hated even the twin suns in the sky. She opened her eyes. Dauncha was dead. Ra'ka was dead. Though she'd be glad never to step foot on this place again, she was surprised to find a sliver of regret. She shook out of her inward ruminations and realized the young yautja was still speaking. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. He was close enough to brush Zizar's flank if he wanted. The yautja was dressed in light armor, his midriff and thighs unadorned, sunlight glinting off his oiled dreadlocks. A necklace of small skulls draped across his neck. They looked freshly procured, gleaming bone-white in the sunrise.

“Once you enter and the ramp closes, it will automatically take off. You are free to leave.”

“Arndk'dhe says you have mating proposals,” Sealink said. “Will sire many sons?”

“He can leave his tusks out of my business,” Thraen replied with a ruffled flex of his mandibles. He shifted weight on his feet, his sunken yellow eyes meeting hers. “But yes.”

Sealink nodded. “Happy for you. Make line strong.”

Thraen clicked, _kurr_ ing as all yautja did, but said nothing. A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. She nodded again, her chest and heart light. In that moment she would've thanked him for saving her from Ra'ka, for giving her second chance, for everything, but Thraen's gaze flicked, his hand lifting and rising in the gesture she knew to mean _It is all said and understood._ The moment passed between them unspoken, as ephemeral as a wisp of smoke, and as lasting. 

Dauncha's son grunted, looking away. “I'll check the supplies. I won't be long.”

He left. Sealink stared at the spot where he had departed, mulling. Zizar shifted again, tubules swaying. 

_What was all that about?_ he asked. 

“The ship will be ready soon,” she said _._ “He's just checking our food.”

Zizar shifted for the third time. His passenger stroked the side of his ligamented neck. “Something on your mind? You're so restless.” 

The praetorian was quiet. Then he said, _I'll admit, something has been bothering me since the hunt._

Sealink's mouth twitched. “Oh?”

_Back in the Hive, when you were in the Queen's body, you could've remained there. But instead you chose to return to your human body. Why? You finally had what you wanted._

It was Sealink's turn to be quiet. She looked down at her thinning legs and human hands. 

“I knew I couldn't speak to the old yautja with a Queen's body. I couldn't have saved my children. Without them I am nothing. I am Sealink; when I grow old and die, that will be it.” She frowned a little then. She lifted a hand in front of her, watching as the sun dyed the tips of her fingers blood red. She could see the tiny capillaries pulsing beneath the skin. “Something Thraen once said to me made perfect sense. My body is nothing but a mask; when anyone sees me, all they see is a human female. But I know the truth. I saw it when I was in the Queen's mind.”

_What did you see?_

Sealink could sometimes remember it in the pre-dawn before the morning, when she still hovered between dream and reality. She'd wake up gasping, basking in a glow so warm and complete she felt she was dying. After a few minutes the memory became vague and shadowy, as if it viewed a great distance away, leaving her wondering why she'd woken up in the first place. By mid-afternoon the memory would be entirely gone. She'd forget until the next time she woke up, hand on chest, wrapped in an aura of unfathomable peace. But those episodes were occurring less and less, and soon she knew they would end all together. For now she clung onto the phantom sensation with the strength of a dying man, holding onto the bare moments when she truly understood herself. 

“We were equals. Sisters, one and the same,” she said. She smiled, but it was neither happy nor sad. “I was whole.”

Zizar was quiet. There was nothing left to say after a statement like that. 

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

_end_

 


End file.
